


8 Simple Rules for Loving a Vampire

by simplifiedemotions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bad Puns, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Sex, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Human/Vampire Relationship, Library Sex, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Minor Violence, Mutual Protectiveness, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vampire Bites, Vampire Draco Malfoy, Vampires, Wizengamot politics, hermione does her own nibbling and scratching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29496762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplifiedemotions/pseuds/simplifiedemotions
Summary: Hermione, an exhausted but determined employee in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, becomes Draco’s caseworker as he transitions into living a life he had never expected to have. If only there was a handbook, a set of guidelines or rules, that could help her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 65
Kudos: 188





	1. Rule #1: Vampires don’t interact much with the wizarding population, doubly so if they’re ex-death eaters who live by themselves in a lonely manor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! All of the thanks to weestarmeggie for the alpha/beta work. She was very patient with my up and down writing while I jumped back between this fic and school. Also for making me explain things when I didn't want to. <3
> 
> Thank you to Nayrunoai for reading through and being a cheerleader, and for being a great hype heaux.
> 
> Avendell is the best for making me an aesthetic after my rather poor attempt at colouring.  
> 

The first rule meant that Hermione Granger found herself at the gates of Malfoy Manor on a gloomy October morning, hair loose and swirling around her in the harsh wind.

The manor wasn’t as imposing as it was five years ago. The grounds felt unmoving, the large hedges dark and dreary. It was a depiction of dark splendour, but it lacked the venomous air and stench of death in the absence of snakes.

Could a home be sad, a residue of a broken past, Hermione wondered as she raised a hand to the iron-wrought gates. There was a shiver of magic and the gates opened to a gravel drive.

She walked down the long footpath, looking around the severe property, her eyes flicked between the cleanly cut but lifeless hedges, the brutish shadows of the trees as they thrashed from the wind, and the large curtained windows with no glimpse into what could be awaiting her inside.

According to the report Hermione received in her job at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Malfoy had been turned long before his vampirism had been discovered. The Aurors called to the scene noted that Malfoy hadn’t reported his condition and had been a vampire for at least a year. He had been fined for not disclosing his new magical identity, so Hermione sent a memo to Dean at the DMLE for a copy of Malfoy’s case file to be sent over to her as soon as it was filed.

How was that even possible? How was he feeding? What was he feeding on? She questioned the Aurors on it, but they told her that Malfoy was mute on the subject.

Malfoy’s statement told her he was more annoyed than penitent that his condition had been discovered. It also told her he was the victim of the assault and not the four inebriated young men that had accosted him on his way to the Leaky to Floo home from Diagon Alley, when they realised his identity.

Hermione thought the four young men who had accused Malfoy of being the aggressor in their altercation had a lot of nerve, considering all of them were uninjured when the Aurors came upon them. Hermione’s heart panged when she realised they were Muggleborns but she snuffed out the pity as quickly as it had appeared. She hadn't fought in a war to eliminate blood-prejudice so that people who hadn't even been old enough to take their O.W.L.s could throw their colourful and striking assertions about Malfoy about and enact their own sense of vigilante justice.

If the vitriol they spouted about Malfoy didn’t convince Hermione of his innocence, then the medical report that documented Malfoy’s rib contusions and bloody nose did.

Hermione had never liked the cruelty of revenge masked as justice, and had taken on Malfoy’s case as a top priority when he was being assigned a caseworker. All new magical creatures and other non-humans or part wizards were required to register with the Ministry so that their status could be determined and their rights protected. Ironic, Hermione thought ruefully, that vampires should not be allowed to own what other wizards considered as quintessential to their safety.

Hermione felt for her vine wand in her robes, feeling a guilty comfort for the safety that the smooth wood with a spiralling leaf design brought her. No matter their past, she pitied Malfoy for having his wand taken away simply because Wizarding council’s preferred arguing pointlessly about imminent danger should more powerful beings be allowed to possess something to channel their magic, while in the same vein insisting on protecting them because they were vulnerable in society.

Hermione straightened her shoulders, determined to do the best she could in helping Malfoy adjust to his new life, and reminding herself of the reason that she joined the department fresh out of Hogwarts six years ago.

To make real change.

She lifted the large ebony knocker, two snakes with silver-beaded eyes encircling each other, and let it fall after three short raps against the thick, black door. It was opened gently by an older female elf wearing a red tea towel with enormous blue eyes. They widened further in recognition as the elf looked Hermione up and down.

“Miss Hermione Granger,” the elf said excitedly. “My name is Wimly. Master Draco is in the library if you’ll follow me.”

She smiled at the elf and bent her knees to shake her hand. “Hi, Wimly. It is very nice to meet you.”

Wimly’s ears folded in shyly. “If you’ll follow Wimly, miss.”

Wimly led Hermione down the corridors, dark and grey to match the cold exterior. Apparently, Malfoy was enthusiastic about being a vampire, judging by the barely lit sconces on the wall and the almost arctic temperature. How did Wimly not freeze? Hermione bundled her jacket closer to herself, teeth slightly chattering as she inwardly cursed not wearing her large wool scarf today.

Everything was cast in shadow, making it somewhat difficult for Hermione to see, and she tried and failed to not shiver as she passed by a familiar drawing-room. There seemed to be a static thrum of magic coming from inside, but Hermione couldn’t discern what it was. A quiet cough from Wimly told Hermione that she had stopped walking. She realised that she was staring stock-still at the double-sided, dark mahogany doors.

She thought there was something cruel about the way opulence could mask horror; intricate designs on a beautiful set of doors could show magnificence, immaculate marble floors that showed how well off a family was, and a luxurious rug that matched the furniture. The beautiful rug that Hermione’s blood soaked into as it travelled from the where her body lay prone, as jagged letters were cut into her skin, and a beautiful dark mahogany grandfather clock that she remembered watching dazedly as she almost passed out from the searing pain.

She felt her hand twitch to her left arm where said scar was but refrained and continued walking beside Wimly. The small elf gave her a strained smile which Hermione returned tightly.

“The young Master spends most of his time in the library,” Wimly said in an obvious effort to dissipate the awkward mood. “Other times he is in his potions lab, but you are most likely finding him here when you visit again,” she motioned, pointing to the double doors down the long hall as they turned a corner.

Hermione smiled at the cheery elf, so sharply contrasted against the bleakness of the manor, colour peeking out of a black hole. “Thank you, Wimly.”

They arrived at what Hermione assumed was the library. The magnificent double-doors, similar in colour to the other ones they passed, but different in design. The Malfoy family crest was carved in the middle, two dragons swirling around the curved M lettering. Wimly opened the doors wide and popped away with a nervous goodbye, leaving Hermione alone in a dark corridor and peering into an even darker room.

Hermione felt like there was at least some chance of her stepping through and dropping into a never-ending abyss.

Down the rabbit hole, she thought as she took a heavy step inside, casting a Lumos with her wand.

She was greeted with more books than she could ever dream of. It was a maze, all the different shelves making various paths like a labyrinth of words.

Walking further into the room, Hermione aimed her wand over the high, vaulted ceilings and the tall extensive bookshelves; cataloguing everything with greedy eyes. She had never seen so many books in one place in her entire life, but they weren't the only things capable of seducing her. There were display cases at the end of each aisle filled with different items, and from the dim light, she could see some sort of old dagger glinting off the glass of one of them. There were several tapestries and portraits on the walls depicting different scenes; a rainforests large canopy of trees moving back and forth as heavy rain beat down on them, a dark green dragon swooping over a large fairytale castle, and a more simple portrait, unmoving, of a family having a picnic together, two males with white-blond hair, and a female with a warmer hue of blonde and sparkling blue eyes as she looked down warmly at her son.

Hermione turned her attention back to the books, surveying the space in the same way she did when she first saw the library at Hogwarts. She felt a slight pang of nostalgia at the thought of the old library and the smell of old books and parchment, even missing the irritating tapping of Pince’s wand against her hand when Hermione would stay too late studying.

She knew she wouldn’t mind getting lost in this sweet abyss in the same way she had lost herself in that one.

“You still have that look in your eye,” came a deep voice from somewhere behind her. Hermione startled and swerved her wand in the direction of his voice.

She couldn’t see anything.

“What look is that?” she asked tentatively, narrowing her eyes to try and see better in the dark.

A flicker and several candles in the room lit up, bathing the high shelves in warm light, and from the shadow, he emerged, both so much and nothing like the boy she had gone to school with.

Malfoy had gotten taller. Much taller. Not a product of adulthood but rather the natural propensity of vampires to loom, she thought.

And loom he did. Malfoy stalked more than walked as he came closer, a curious gleam in his eyes as he surveyed her openly and without any sense of propriety, causing Hermione to blush under his leer.

“As if you could inherit all the knowledge of the world if you looked hard enough,” he replied, his face a cool mask, indifferent to her discomfort.

She scoffed, not replying as she lifted her wand up to get a closer look at him. If he could look her up and down as though she were nothing more than a piece of meat then Hermione saw no reason why she couldn’t partake in her own assessment of him.

Malfoy had always been pale, but the man before her was almost luminous. Not unhealthy, his pallor had a vibrancy to it that was mesmerising, but it was his eyes that pinned Hermione in place — a silvery mercurial colour that almost glowed in the soft light.

He was beautiful, something one would only admire from a distance rather than in close proximity, like a red rose with hidden thorns. If you walked too close, the cloying smell of the delicate flower drawing you in, you could fall victim to the tangle of thorns that sprung upon you when you reached out to touch the soft petals, and as you’re pricked over and over by the sharp barbs that surround you, you look towards the rose and notice that the red pigment was only ever blood.

It was for this reason that Hermione felt her heart start pounding almost painfully inside her chest. She could almost hear the irregular beats in the deadly silence of the room.

She continued staring at him, mapping the six years that divided them from their youth by analysing his physical features. He had barely any of the typical features one might usually associate with the undead, although maybe that was because he had always been pale, and so it made little difference to his overall appearance. He was thin, which was natural for vampires because of their, well, unique diet, but his shoulders were broad in his white button-up and made him appear lithe rather than bony.

Malfoy was still staring at her, cold and impassive.

“It’s cold,” she said in an attempt at small talk.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he replied, his voice dripping with derision.

She tightened her jacket around her before reaching into the briefcase slung around her shoulders.

“I’ve read your file already, and I’m assuming you’ve been owled the papers of your registration.” He nodded, looking bored as he stood with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “You’ll need to go to the ministry to file them.”

His lip curled. “Can I not owl them to the department. What is the point of the delivery system if I can’t make use of it?”

“Because we like to encourage interaction between all members of society,” Hermione stated.

“Am I now? Is that why my wand was revoked?” he bit out.

He stepped closer, but Hermione forced herself to stay still. She could feel a puff cold breath on the top of her head as he breathed, causing a shiver to roll down her spine. “I don’t agree with the wand ban if that means anything,” she said, straightening her stance so she could stand taller.

Which admittedly, wasn’t much.

“It doesn’t,” he said, tone caustic as his eyes searched hers in suspicion, examining what Hermione wasn’t sure, but his eerie probing caused her to take a defensive stance.

“Well it’s not like you have much to do around here, it shouldn’t be so out of your way to come by,” she said icily, then winced.

He chuckled. “Touché.”

“Malfoy—“

“Tell me, Granger, how is working a low-level job in your little department treating you?”

Touché indeed.

“I happen to like my job very much, thank you,” she stated primly.

He arched a dark brow at her, lips quirking in amusement, before turning around and sitting in an armchair by the fireplace.

Unlit, which Hermione thought was an important detail considering she was quite literally shaking from the cold.

He must’ve noted her vibrating in the middle of his room because he rolled his eyes and pointed his hand towards the fireplace, wandlessly starting a fire.

Impressed, she moved towards the alluring warmth. “Wandless magic?”

He bared his teeth. “The noose needn’t be so tight, wouldn’t you agree?”

“The noose shouldn’t be an option,” Hermione said.

“Shame you're not the one making the rules Granger,” he quipped. “Now, If I must come to The Ministry to officially register, why have you come here?”

She cleared her throat, thankful for the more cordial air in the room after Malfoy must have concluded that whatever assessment of danger he thought Hermione might bring upon his pureblood sensibilities was low, and she sat down on the opposite armchair, thankfully close to the fire, and dug into her bag. “I am your ministry caseworker,” she started, pulling out a pen and paper pad. “As per my job description, I will visit you once a week to see how you’re adjusting.”

“To check up on me,” he stated.

“To make sure you’re acclimatising,” she corrected.

“And what does acclimatising look like to the Ministry? Should I join a club? Romance another vampire? How is the dating scene among the undead, do you think?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re not undead, you’re part human. And actually, there’s a society—”

He waved a hand dismissively, interrupting her. “Yes, yes. I know. The Society for the Tolerance of Vampires,” he said, the word vampire rolling off his tongue as if he had just eaten something sour. “I’ve already received a letter from them.”

She tilted her head up as she made cursory notes. “And?”

“The letter?” he asked, giving her a cold, close-lipped smile. “Oh, It and the guide they sent along made for a rather nice kindling for the fireplace.”

“Malfoy! You haven’t even tried—”

“I am perfectly fine being alone. I am allowed those allowances, at least,” he said, tone brokering no argument.

She gaped at him for a moment. She thought of saying something else but his tone could have cut stone. Sighing, she steeled herself to convince him slowly in the future during their weekly meetings.

“Alright,” she said quietly. “This week is just for us to introduce ourselves, and for me to inform you of the schedule of our meetings. I’m afraid I can’t stay long today, but I will routinely arrive at the end of my workday for our weekly meetups.”

“Why?”

Hermione furrowed her brows. “Why must we meet up?”

“No, why have you scheduled checking up on me at the end of your workday, when all you have to do is pop in and make sure I don’t have unsuspecting victims in my dungeons before you go to work?”

She huffed. “You don’t have people in your dungeons, Malfoy.”

“And how would you know?” Malfoy stood, and placed his arms around both arms rests, effectively caging Hermione in and levelling his face with her. His eyes were even more silver up close.

She shivered at his cold breath.

“You should be careful, Granger,” he said, his voice a dark promise. “Vampires, after all, are parasitic and bloodthirsty creatures.”

She gave him a cold smile. “I could say the same about all humans. Now, tell me what time works best for you each week so I can schedule it.”

Malfoy smirked again. “That they are. I’ll come by The Ministry tomorrow, and as per your earlier description about my abundance of time, I am pretty flexible for meetings.” He gave a dry chuckle as she grimaced, rising up and thankfully putting space between them again. “Afternoons are fine with me but you can owl me if we need to reschedule accordingly.” Without another word, he turned towards the shelves and disappeared behind the stacks.

Staying still on the chair for a moment to calm her upturned breathing, Hermione then rose to her feet, packed up her papers and bid Malfoy a farewell, for which she rudely got no response, and walked off the manor grounds and apparated to the Ministry.

* * *

When Hermione arrived back at her office, she pondered how best to interact with Malfoy.

It wasn't that she really thought Malfoy would hurt her. He never killed anybody during the war, and though he had been and still remained a ponce, he had been nothing more than a bully when they were younger.

But there wasn’t much knowledge of the behaviours of vampires. They were a secluded group, and Hermione suspected that like all other creatures and non-human beings, people who interacted with them did so with an air of bigotry.

She didn’t know if observations of vampires' apparent impulsive and fervid behaviour were factual, or if people were just wary of them and therefore used any flicker of antagonism by vampires, or any magical creatures for that matter, to assume that they were naturally prone to violence.

As Hermione glanced around at the endless stack of administrative work that somehow always made its way to her desk, she sighed. Somehow extra work from her colleagues in the department always made its way to her desk. She dipped her quill into some ink and started on the first paper, a case of a wizard who had been recently freed from the allure of a Veela and was suing her for damages to his heart.

And damages to his bank account, Hermione noted privately. She let out a wry chuckle as she took notes on the case while still pondering Malfoy.

Specifically the issue of his bloodlust. Did he experience it to the degree she’d read about in books, where vampires were almost feral in their desperation for blood? How bad were his symptoms even if he had been feeding? Was there anything she could do to help alleviate his discomfort? Was it even uncomfortable or did it thrill him? No one really knew how much, or how little it would take for a vampire to lose their senses and it was frustrating, to say the least. Hermione wasn’t even sure if there were any innate differences in the temptation to violence that was different to normal witches and wizards. Vampires and other creatures tended to form packs or covens to build community in a world that ostracised them for their differences, therefore making studies on vampires woefully sparse.

She decided that she would have to properly research the proclivities of vampires.

She would research the proclivities of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Hermione looked up at the clock in her office the next day. She’d finished her workday, only four hours later than usual, which was an improvement.

Sighing tiredly, she waved her wand and her continually rising piles of papers were neatly stacked on the side of her desk. She picked up her coat and bag and exited her office.

She looked around the empty cubicles. Everyone, even the fresh-fashed interns had left for the day.

“You really do love your job,” came a drawling voice from near the main doors.

She refrained from jumping, only just, and turned around to see Malfoy leaning against the wall at the entry to the department.

“What are you doing here? It’s way past work hours,” Hermione said, breathing somewhat heavily as she tried to calm her startled nerves.

“I could say the same to you, Granger,” he replied. She looked up at him gingerly but said nothing.

He pressed off of the wall, reaching into his dark robes and taking out a piece of paper. “I need a signature from my caseworker before I’m granted weekly blood packets by The Ministry, care of St. Mungos.” He was wearing a large black coat that made his shoulders broader. He more or less towered over her as he approached.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she frowned, remembering the time. “Malfoy, how long have you been waiting here? My office has my name on the door, why didn’t you just knock?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I was curious to see how much you overwork yourself. And like you said yesterday, I have nowhere to go, so I thought I’d conduct a study in observation.”

What an irritating man. Her hands twitched where she had them balled into fists. “You are ridiculous, Malfoy. Is all the other paperwork complete?”

“Yes.”

“Give it here then.” The lights shut off by magic at a certain point of the day, usually at the end when employees not named Hermione Granger and the janitors of The Ministry went home, so she lit a nearby lamp at one of the desks as she motioned Malfoy forwards.

Dimly, she was aware that he was standing more than a respectable distance away from her and the desk after he handed her the parchment.

“I don’t bite. You can come closer,” Hermione said.

“No, I think that’s my job,” Malfoy said dryly.

Hermione blushed. “Oh, my gods. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, I know, Granger,” he moved towards her and from a closer distance she realised he was even taller than she thought he was, “I was only joking.”

“I was too,” she defended.

He bared his teeth at her in a sardonic grin. “Clearly.”

She looked down again, and for all the cold in the room, it was the spot of his sharp fangs that caused a shiver to roll down her spine.

“Right.” She fiddled through the papers to make sure everything was in order before taking a quill off someone’s desk and signing her name at the bottom. “You’re all set. I think there would be less waiting time if you went to St. Mungo’s first thing in the morning than now, so the blood samples you should have received from the front desk should be fine for today. Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve survived this long without any blood.”

“Who’s to say I have?”

She looked up sharply at him. “What, did someone offer to feed you? It’s not illegal exactly but unless it’s from a consistent source, I think that blood packets are optimal. They’ve been injected with extra minerals so you won’t need feeding every single day.”

He hummed. “You would be surprised how many women would offer their blood for its,” he paused, “potential aphrodisiac effects.”

Hermione blushed and looked away. “I didn’t know there were any,” she said shyly, face flushing.

“Something to do with where the blood travels as it leaves the bloodstream is my guess.”

“I see,” she said nervously, feeling her cheeks heat. “It’s really interesting research.”

“You do love to learn, Granger,” he said darkly. She looked up at him and found that he was intentionally trying to rile her.

“From a distance,” she replied coolly.

He chuckled. “To answer your second point, yes, I got all of that in the guide you slipped inside the book I had on my table.”

He said the word with such derision that Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “I enjoyed the story of Sisyphus as well.”

His lips twitched. “A man punished by the Gods by rolling a rock up a hill for eternity.”

“Well, he was punished for his hubris,” Hermione answered.

“Why didn’t they just kill him?”

Hermione crossed her arms and faced Malfoy more fully. “A greater punishment than death is forcing a person to live through life and contemplate what they’ve done wrong.”

“Can a person really contemplate what they’ve done wrong if they don’t have a chance to learn something new? To unlearn the past?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think being bitten was a punishment, Malfoy?”

“I know it was, but that has nothing to do with Muggle philosophy. The vampire who bit and turned me had a son who was tortured and killed by my father during the war. He thought it apt to mix blood for blood loss, and if the bite was not an unfortunate turn in my relationship with mortality or lack thereof, I would appreciate the metaphor more.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. She hadn’t known the circumstances of his turning. “I’m sorry,” she said after a heavy silence. It was all she could say in reply. She felt her earlier defensiveness drop a little when she thought about how bad she felt for him having to deal with all of this alone.

He sneered at her. “I don’t need your apologies, Granger. Please don’t give me those doe eyes. I’m hardly a victim in all of this.”

“I’m still sorry,” hoping he heard her sincerity.

He gave her a terse nod before looking away.

She bit her lip, thinking of something else to say. “Do you believe you’re bearing the sins of your father?” she asked before her brain caught up with her mouth. She wanted to slap her hands over her mouth for how intrusive the question she asked was.

He stilled for a moment before looking at her again and smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have plenty of sins on my own block, Granger.”

She nodded, understanding that disagreeing with him was not the best method to use if she wanted to be a good caseworker. “I’ve always found it interesting that muggles and wizards both have conceptions of fate,” she said instead.

He gave her a bitter laugh, and there was an inscrutable expression on his features.

Sighing, she handed him the papers. “I am truly sorry that this happened to you. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with being a non-human but it doesn’t mean you should have had the choice taken away from you.”

He looked away, not replying again.

“Where did it happen?”

She did not need to ask what it was.

After looking like he wasn’t going to answer, he spoke. “I moved to Germany after my year in Azkaban. There was a university in Heidelberg where I registered as a Muggle and studied for four years.

“What degree?” Hermione found the idea of Malfoy and muggles so odd she experienced a fit of vertigo for a moment.

“History.”

She perked up. “I love history,” Hermione said.

He rolled his eyes. “I never would have guessed, Granger.”

Hermione stood straighter, preparing her argument. “There is a lot to learn about the consistency of human behaviour in different historical events,” she said, hearing the rising frustration in her voice. He was going to be such a difficult man to talk to. “I always wished that we could’ve learned about the similarities of the Muggle and wizarding world more discernibly in Muggle Studies back at Hogwarts.”

A moment of silence. “We’re all the same underneath, it seems,” he said, his voice barely a breath.

When Hermione looked up, Malfoy had a pensive look on his face.

She stared at him, dark bags beneath his red-rimmed eyes, slumped shoulders, sallow cheeks.

He looked tired.

Suddenly determined, Hermione grabbed a bottle of drying powder and tipped it over the wet ink. Rolling up the parchment, she handed it to Malfoy who took it with a nod before tucking it into his robes.

“Would you like me to go to St. Mungo’s with you?” Hermione asked.

His eyebrows furrowed. “While I imagine having one of the wonder trio with me would speed the lineup, I think I can manage a hospital visit on my own, Granger.”

“I’m only offering. I am your caseworker after all,” she stated.

“That you are. Now while you do frighten me and every person who crosses your bushy path, I think I may yet survive an encounter with the staff at St. Mungo’s. Although, my eyes really do not appreciate the lime green robes the healers wear.”

She bit back a smile. “They are rather bright.”

He gave her a small smirk before peering over her shoulder into her office. “Are you done for the day? Or night, I should say.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am. I was just leaving before you arrived.”

He nodded. “I will escort you to the Floo.”

Hermione couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face. Pureblood mannerisms in a vampire. Surely there was a joke to be made there.

“Thank you”, she said instead. Hermione picked up her coat and slid it on, waving her hand to close and lock her office. She picked up her bag, slightly grunting at the heaviness of it as she placed it across her shoulders.

“Why don’t you cast a featherlight charm?” Malfoy asked from behind her. She barely stopped a shudder going down her spine, wondering how long it would take for her to become used to his silent movement.

“I’m practising putting some weight on my shoulder,” she said.

“Why?”

Hermione winced at the memory. “I was visiting a werewolf pack to present a new treaty detail in legislation I’m helping draw up, and it looked like I came during a feud between two packs. Things escalated and they got into a brawl. One of the werewolves who was shielding me got pushed to the ground and I was attacked by a younger werewolf who was stressed and agitated by what was going on,” she explained.

Malfoy's eyes widened in horror.

“It wasn’t the werewolf's fault,” Hermione continued, adjusting the bag again. “He was recently bitten and had turned earlier in the month because of some genetic mutation that no one was aware of. His emotions just got the better of him.”

He went paler if that were possible. “And your shoulder?”

Hermione turned her head towards her shoulder. “He broke my shoulder with his hand. It’s mostly repaired. There are a few scratch marks that are healing but I mostly only have muscle stiffness now.”

She turned back to him, amused. “He actually visited me—”

Her smile fell when she looked at his face. Malfoy looked pained.

“Malfoy?”

He looked sharply at her before his face contorted into a blank mask.

Hermione took a step forward but before she could say anything he gestured towards the door. “After you,” he said stiffly.

Hermione stood for a moment longer, then moved towards the door. Walking on the black glossy floors to the lifts, Malfoy’s billowing robes brushed against her legs, and they were freezing. She wondered if he was cold to the touch.

They got into the lifts, and Malfoy gave her a wide berth. It had to have been one of the most awkward silences she had ever experienced. She was thinking of something to say about Malfoy’s change in mood, but every time she opened her mouth she felt the words close up in her throat.

Once they exited into the atrium, she felt him stiffen on her right. She looked up and saw his eyes dart around the open and empty space before visibly relaxing. He moved forward ahead of her and they stopped at two sides of the floo network.

“Granger,” he nodded before he stepped in.

“Malfoy, wait,” Hermione said.

He inclined his head back, waiting.

She bit her lip again, and she noticed him track the movement.

“Yes?”

She said the first thing that came to mind, hoping he understood her sincerity. “Claws are still nails underneath. It’s the choices you make that define you, not what others try to force it to mean.”

And with that, she stepped into the Floo, not looking at Malfoy’s reaction as she disappeared in the green flames.


	2. Rule #2: Vampires have a weakness for necks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alpha/beta work by weestarmeggie, and read through by Nayrunoai.

The first few months spent meeting with Malfoy were a study in patience. He either ignored Hermione’s questions or replied with a sarcastic remark that made Hermione so furious, she wanted to find the biggest book in the library and clog him over the head with it.

He would always be reading a book when she entered the manor, and Hermione wondered how many of the volumes from the library he’d already read. She would ask the designated questions regarding his mental health and what he had been doing in the last week but was met with single sentences and sometimes even single word responses that left Hermione quietly scrambling for a way to fill up the time she should be working to help him. Thankfully for her, there were a few books he would be reading that she had not made the time to read herself yet and so she filled the extra time asking him about them instead. Malfoy would stare at her with a long-suffering look when she spoke, deigning to grace her with a few clipped sentences regarding his thoughts and sometimes if he was feeling particularly verbose, whether he recommended it for reading or not.

“It was adequate,” he would say in a bored drawl. Hermione wondered if she bounced a ball off of his flat voice if it would be capable of rebounding off a surface.

Their conversations picked up, of course, when they got into an argument. For a short while they stiffly, but still in Hermione’s mind politely, discussed charms, but then proceeded, through no fault of her own, to bicker over a new version of the bird-conjuring charm; more birds would be cast at once and fly at a greater speed. Hermione told Malfoy of the time she sent a flock of them at Ron during sixth year, earning her a reluctant chuckle. Malfoy was very obviously biting his fist to keep from smiling fully, causing her to smile even more brightly at him, who rolled his eyes at her in response.

Their conversation turned more defensive when they started discussing how long it would take for this new charm to be taught to the public.

Hermione argued that newer charms should have more verifiability before being marketed to the public so they didn’t potentially affect public safety, while Malfoy argued that new forms of magic and its potential effects should be given to people freely, and those who were idiotic enough to use them without the adept magic needed to cast them, deserved whatever consequences that resulted.

“That is exactly the point of warning labels, Malfoy,” Hermione said with a harsh pinch to her voice, pulling an errant curl that had escaped her bun and twisting and tugging it on her finger in frustration. “They are available and required in advertisement so that the general public is aware of what they are using and how to proceed safely. How can those warnings be labelled when the developers and advertisers are not completely sure of all of the potential dangers?”

“Yes, Granger,” he bit back. “They go through all of this testing, and most of the people who get injured are the bumbling idiots who don’t listen and attempt charm work that is above their skill. We might as well do away with the years of testing when the original creators have already assured everyone of their success.”

Hermione fumed. “You can’t only take the word of the developers, there needs to be second, third, and even fourth opinions to ensure the safety of the people they are marketing magical charms to. This goes for any products or spells,” she argued.

He sat up straighter, snapping the book shut as he mirrored her prickly posture. “If you’re adept enough to use the sort of magic necessary for advanced charms and any other magic not reserved for Weasley genes, then you would not fumble with it in the first place until you were ready to.”

She ignored the jab at the Weasley’s. “The point of warnings,” she emphasised because he clearly was not understanding her point, “is so that young or inexperienced witches and wizards do not—”

“Yes,” he interrupted, his voice cutting. “There need to be warnings, I never contested that,” he said, hand ruffling his perfectly coiffed hair in agitation. “It is the length of time that is preposterous considering that magic is an innate skill, not some Muggle invention that cannot be accounted for until you go through an absurd amount of trials.”

Hermione could see his nostrils flaring and his cheeks flush and felt a rush of excitement that she had finally prickled at his annoyingly calm disposition.

Even if he was completely wrong.

“I assure you, Muggle science and technology is a much longer process.” She was suddenly wary that Malfoy might make a degrading comment, but all he did was scowl so she continued. “Just because magic is innate, does not mean it cannot be volatile. We need to test it by similar means to avoid risking people’s safety.”

“Actually, I believe you’re right.” His voice splashing more than dripping with sarcasm. “Warning labels should absolutely include a fine print that states anyone other than your precious Weasley and people like Finnegan, should be clear to use the experimental charms outlined in this book.”

Hermione grabbed and hit Malfoy in the shoulder with said charms book, and Draco cursed at her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing loudly about bloody stubborn vampires. She almost turned and hexed him when she heard a chuckle on her way out.

She went to Diagon Alley before going home and stopped by Flourish and Blotts to grab some new books on charms, and returned to Malfoy Manor the following week to discuss why she was right and he was wrong.

That day they argued and even cordially discussed charms theory and it’s new innovations well into the night.

“I will concede on this one point,” Malfoy relented, when Hermione showed him a graph on magic adaptability and yearly magical injuries.

“Yes, I thought you would.” She beamed when he rolled his eyes at her.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you are a gigantic swot?”

She pretended to contemplate the question for a moment before answering him. “Once or twice...”

He stared at her incredulously for a moment, but then changed the topic, mentioning a new variation of lust potion with a wave of his hand as if it were a bother to even discuss it with her.

They were discussing the dubious nature of lust potions when Wimly appeared with a mug of hot chocolate and thrust it, without warning, into the hand Malfoy had been animatedly waving around as he argued with her.

Hermione could barely contain her snort of laughter and realised she hadn't at all when Malfoy levelled her with a look and asked, "What, Granger? Have you never see a grown man drinking a cup of hot cocoa before?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "All I can see is marshmallows, Malfoy. If there's any hot chocolate in that cup at all I'd be surprised."

Malfoy's eyes didn't leave hers. "Wimly, a cup of hot chocolate for Miss Granger if you'd be so kind. With less than half the marshmallows I take, thank you. She obviously doesn't appreciate their flavour."

A cup appeared on the table beside her and Hermione lifted it gently. "Thank you Wimly," she said, taking a small sip from the rim of the hot cup. "There's no need to be dramatic, Malfoy. My parents are dentists. There's no way I could, in good conscience allow myself so much sugar without feeling the need to go home and scrub my teeth raw."

"Well, I'm sorry Granger."

"Sorry?"

"That you're wrong. There is nothing wrong with the amount of marshmallows in my cup. In fact," his lip was curling up and Hermione felt her own lips lift in amusement, "This is the only good way to drink it."

“Really, Malfoy?”

“Really, Granger,” he insisted.

Hermione smiled to herself as she drank the way too sugary cup of cocoa, in the knowledge that maybe Malfoy was finally starting to enjoy her presence, even if it was begrudgingly.

* * *

“Harry told me you’ve picked up a stray blond with a biting attitude,” came a teasing voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she took the last bite of her eggs. “Ha-ha, you’re so funny, Ginny.”

Ginny hummed. “Weasley genes, although something went wrong when mum had Percy.”

Hermione snorted. “I have to get to work. Thanks for the breakfast.”

“Come anytime, I mean it. Harry says you’re never in the canteen anymore.”

“Harry and Ron spend too much time down there is all,” Hermione replied, shaking her head.

Ginny stared at her challengingly, that famous brow-narrowing that was scariest when it came from the youngest Weasley.

“I will eat more, I promise. I’m just tired,” Hermione promised.

“I think that’s what food helps with, this thing called energy,” Ginny quipped.

“Is this how annoying I was at Hogwarts?” Hermione sighed, picking up her bag and heading towards the fireplace.

“I’d like to think the term you would use is caring.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to say goodbye, and Ginny shoved a paper bag to her chest. “Eat more, Miss Granger, or I will be cross with you. You can’t work all day and not get any food in.”

She laughed and took the warm bag. “Yes, Mrs Potter,” she relented. “Now, I must be off before my supervisor gives me another case for the sake of it.”

“He’s just upset because he knows you're up for promotion over him.”

Hermione smiled, saying her goodbyes and Flooing to work.

* * *

“Hermione,” came a voice from her partially open office door.

Hermione looked up from her mountain of paperwork. “Hello, Dean,” she said. “Tea?” She offered the seat opposite her desk as he walked inside.

He nodded, smiling warmly at her. “Do you have any peppermint left?”

“Afraid not. Ron drank the last of it and I’ve yet to restock. Is black with honey alright?”

He took the proffered seat. “Better than what the Ministry provides, so yes, please.”

She snorted as she poured tea into two teacups from the kettle she charmed to always stay hot and refill the water when it was low. “Is this a friendly visit or a professional one?”

“I’m always happy to visit the brightest witch of our age.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “But I do also need your progress report for Malfoy.”

Hermione furrowed her brows. “Did you not receive it yesterday? I expressly told Emily at reception to send it over because I was running out of the office for an emergency with the Veela case.”

He shook his head and sipped his tea. “I’m afraid I didn’t. Also, I heard about that. So the Veela and the wizard are actually in love after all?”

Hermione sighed, frustrated that she couldn’t trust another person with even the simplest of tasks. “I gave it to Emily, who is as forgetful as Harry is, although her distractions are more of the wealthy male variety than female gingers.” She rummaged around in her desk, grabbing her copy of the report on Malfoy and duplicating it before handing the new copy to Dean. “Here is another copy, I’ll make sure it’s delivered on time from now on. Also yes, if you must know the Veela and the wizard Mr Rochester are happily engaged now.”

Dean laughed, his dark brown eyes swimming with mirth. “Don’t apologise, it’s only a day, and the only reason my superiors are even asking for a report is that they don’t like that Malfoy only got off with a small charge and are just looking for any potential bad behaviour to charge him with. Also, why did you get called out for what is supposed to be a happy occasion?”

Hermione kept quiet about her irritation with the DMLE and their obvious bias against Malfoy because Dean didn’t seem to share their thoughts and therefore didn’t deserve her ire.

“Because Mr Rochester proposed to the Veela, and if we must add context to this story her name is Jeanne, at a Muggle park he used to go to as a child, and she, so overcome with emotion, unveiled her wings to about fifty Muggles.”

Dean laughed into his cup, some of it dripping down his chin as he tried to contain himself.

“Blimey! That must’ve been fun to sort out.”

Hermione playfully glared at him. “You laugh but I had to help obliviate the Muggles because there were not enough people available who were adept with memory charms.” Hermione took a contemplative sip. “I have an advanced level of experience with them, so I offered.”

Dean’s expression faltered and Hermione quickly smiled, waving her free hand dismissively.

“Anyway, it took me hours. I’m sure Monday's Prophet will have a great headline.”

Dean smiled again, although she could see a hint of pity in his eyes that she frankly did not want. She glanced around the room, clenching her hands around her tea as she fought to control her breathing.

“Hermione?”

She looked up, feeling lightheaded. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“How’s it going with Malfoy?”

Grateful for the topic change, even if it was Malfoy, Hermione swallowed despite the heaviness in her throat before responding. “He is just as arrogant as he was at Hogwarts,” she said, thankful that her voice sounded clear.

Dean laughed. “Unsurprising. Is he dangerous?”

“Moodier than anything. It took me weeks to get more than a clipped sentence out of him.”

“Maybe death has made him more pensive.”

“Dean,” she admonished.

He grimaced. “Sorry. Old memories of Hogwarts.”

Hermione put down her cup. “He’s actually quite...interesting, once you get to know him. He’s still a prat,” Hermione said when she saw the way Dean raised his eyebrows in worry, “he’s just less so than before. He’s almost tolerable, even, when I’m having a good day and his sarcastic remarks don’t get to me.”

Dean breathed a laugh. “I guess we all grow up at some point.” He finished his cup and set it gently back on the table before rising.

“Tell that to your fellow Gryffindor’s when you’re all together at the Leaky on Friday’s,” she teased.

Dean smiled fondly at her as he picked up Malfoy’s report. “You should join us sometime Hermione! When’s the last time you escaped your office?”

“Right about now actually,” she said. Standing up as she looked at the clock. “I have to go to the manor and visit Malfoy.”

“How unfortunate.”

She grinned at him. “How about a rain check?”

“Always.'' He smiled fondly in return, ruffling her hair as she passed him. She swatted him in the shoulder as she went to grab her coat and bag.

“Might want to bring an umbrella. It’s pouring out there.” They exited her office and were about to part ways as Dean said he had other business in her department.

“I should be fine,” she said hurriedly. “The weather is supposed to be calming down in a bit.”

“We live in England, Hermione!” Dean hollered at her as she hurried to the Floo.

“I’ll be fine!”

* * *

Hermione entered the manor, cursing the entire Malfoy line as she stormed into the library; her feet were soaked and slowly freezing. There had been a storm hammering as she apparated to the manor, more so than there had been in London, and she was sure she looked like Crookshanks after a bath, save for the ginger hair.

She had been coming to see Malfoy weekly for almost two months now, and she could’ve sworn he was decreasing the temperature just a bit each time.

Malfoy tutted at her as he looked up from his armchair near the fireplace, which had a brimming fire, a mocking expression on his face.

“Do you have something to say?” Hermione asked as she unzipped and shrugged off her coat before walking to the fire and sitting on the floor to warm herself up. “I’m assuming the fire is for my benefit?”

He nodded. “You have magic.”

“An astute observation, Malfoy.”

“I thought I’d make it, considering you’ve never seemed to have heard of a drying charm.”

Hermione forced a smile. “Force of habit from growing up with Muggles.” It took her a few minutes to realise here she was kneeling by the fireplace to warm her hands, and was a bit too close for comfort to Malfoy. One long leg stretched out in front of him while the other was perched over his knee, and when Hermione looked up it was to see him looking down at her with amusement in his eyes.

Hermione scowled and shuffled back.

“You’ve been in the wizarding world longer than the Muggle world,” Malfoy pointed out.

Hermione hummed. “True. But not everything needs a wand.”

“Indeed,” he said cooly.

“Don’t be difficult.”

“I warmed up the manor,” he said, seeming to note that she wasn’t in the mood for his sarcastic jabs.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Hermione sniped through chattering teeth.

He gave a long-suffering sigh before casting a wandless warming charm on the room. “Better?” he drawled.

Ignoring him, Hermione removed her fluffy black cardigan that was almost soaked through with rain, and placed it on the back of a chair, before taking out her wand and casting a drying charm everywhere except her hair. She had dinner at Ginny and Harry’s tonight and no time to fix her hair, so letting her curls dry naturally would at least somewhat smooth out the frizziness.

She went through her bag for quill and paper. “So”, Hermione said as she looked at her notepad. “How have you been feeling this week?”

A moment of silence.

She looked up. “Malfoy?”

Malfoy was looking at her, or more accurately, at her chest. She looked down at herself, looking for any possible stains on her long-sleeved ribbed shirt.

Hermione’s brows furrowed. “Is there something on my shirt?”

Malfoy looked dazed for a moment longer before shaking his head infinitesimally and looking back up at her face. She thought she saw his jaw clench before he tried speaking.

She could also see that his pupils were expanded.

It wouldn’t be until later that night that Hermione realised how much of her neck the shirt collar exposed. The tendons stretched open for the predator to sink their teeth into the delicate flesh, blood pumping as it left the deep, pointed puncture wounds.

“You’re complaining about being cold but you’re wearing that?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes. “The manor is colder here than it is outside, actually. And most places keep consistent warming charms at least”, she said.

He regarded her for a moment. “I don’t have that much need for warmth these days. Or the company.”

“Well, I’m here now. So I would appreciate it if you could make it warmer when you know I’m going to be here.” She shifted. “Please.”

He relented. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Hermione's lip twitched. “How have you been doing this week?” she asked again.

She could feel him moving around her, quiet like smoke. “I sat in more places this week while I read.”

She snorted and looked up at him. “What did you read?”

“Are we starting a book club? I think we’d need a few more members,” he said.

“I’m already in a book club, I’m afraid.”

“Pity. I don’t think I can join.”

“No, you can’t.”

Malfoy raised a brow.

“It’s women’s only,” she added.

He laughed, soft and airy. “Well, that would be especially difficult then.”

Hermione smiled. Biting her lip she said, “I wonder if they’d make an exception for vampire men?”

He laughed again, uncrossing his arms from where they had been tightly pressed to his chest.

His broad chest, Hermione’s brain added uselessly.

He motioned towards the tall bookcases. “Would you like to see?” he asked.

Oh god, did she. Hermione’s fingers had a near-incessant twitch to peruse the obviously old books. She knew that the manor held some extraordinarily rare books and scrolls from the Ministry’s post-war investigation for remnants of dark magic, which she could easily immerse herself in. There was a lifetime’s worth of words to read in here.

She heard him chuckle and made an effort to look away from the shelves.

“Go right ahead,” he said. “You’ve been eyeing the books like a forlorn lover since your first visit.”

“I’m supposed to be working,” Hermione pointed out.

He was already walking towards the winding stacks and old tomes and words she wanted to lose herself in.

“We can talk about my week of doing nothing as you look around,” he said as he disappeared through a shelf for a moment before rolling back a sliding ladder.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. Malfoy looked at her and laughed again. “I remember from Hogwarts you were fond of first editions.” Hermione looked at him in surprise. “The manor’ library has a large number of them, including a signed Hogwarts: A History by Bagshot.” He chuckled at Hermione’s gasp or maybe small shriek. “That book and several other first editions are shelved here,” he said, pointing to a middle shelf in front of him.

Hermione crossed her arms. “I am fond of first editions, you are correct, but excuse me Draco Malfoy, you think I can’t reach a middle shelf?”

Malfoy pressed his lips together, smothering what Hermione believed was a smarmy smirk. “It’s a high shelf.”

Hermione huffed and walked to the shelf, pointedly ignoring the ladder as she looked up. Oh, good lord, it was high. She looked down at the case of books at her eye level, a series of encyclopedias on the different maps of the wizarding world, and placed her finger on one of the spines. “I think I want to look at these first,” she said.

She heard Malfoy scoff and she smiled. He walked towards her, and she could feel his unlikely warmth at her back.

“Would you like me to lift you since you insist on being so stubborn?” His breath blew hot against the nape of her neck and she shivered.

Hermione turned to face him over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes. “No, thank you,” she said, gripping the book and pulling a little harder than necessary as she lifted her chin at him.

“You’re not even that tall,” she added. You probably need the ladder as well.”

“For the middle shelves? Is that so? Let’s see then.” Malfoy stepped closer into her personal space, and bugger it all, it really was unfair. He had high cheekbones that were accentuated in the shadow of the low light, his thin lips were poised in a smirk that showed off his white teeth, one of the front ones a little crooked in what she assumed was some sort of injury. His face was pale but clear, and his angular jaw complimented his pointy nose well. His eyes, however, were the most compelling thing about him. She remembered them being grey when they were younger but they now looked like shattered starlight, startling silver as his amused gaze flickered across her face.

She flushed, looking down at his chest so she would stop staring at him.

“My face is up here, Granger,” he said coyly.

Hermione looked up at him and pursed her mouth. “It’s a shame to have to look at it.”

He smiled. “Oh?” He stepped closer, and Hermione took a step back, but seeing as she was already next to the bookshelf, she ended up with her back pressed to it, a large book digging into her spine.

Malfoy put two hands on either side of her head, staring down at her. “Is there something else that you would give more of an appreciative look to?” His eyes slowly dragged the length of her as he spoke.

Hermione flushed. “N-no,” she said, but refused to look away. Why was he acting like this? Hermione couldn’t tell if she should be wary or intrigued by this very sudden development that had ended with their bodies barely a breath’s width apart.

Malfoy reached a hand up and placed it on her throat, his thumb resting on her fluttering pulse. She didn’t swat it away because she found that she stopped breathing altogether and had no capacity for brain function. All of the blood seemed to be pooling elsewhere and she was left feeling light-headed; incapable of making executive decisions.

Which is why she didn’t immediately remove his hand, call him on his inappropriate behaviour and storm out of there. It was the only acceptable explanation.

“Are you trying to scare me?” Hermione asked, her breath hitching as she tried ignoring the feel of his long fingers moving slowly on her neck. His thumb was sliding back and forth gently while the rest of his fingers tapped near her pulse.

“Are you scared?”

Hermione's cheeks reddened. “No.”

He smiled darkly. “Your pulse betrays you.”

“You make me nervous. That’s different from being scared.” She reached up and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “I just don’t know whether to trust you,” she admitted. “I’ve known you most of my life, but I’m only actually learning things about you in the last two months.”

“You shouldn’t trust me,” was all he said in reply.

“I know you don’t”— she sighed, looking up at him — “I know you don’t want help, especially from me. But it doesn’t change that I’m here to help you if you need it.”

“I’m not your new pet project, Granger,” he bit out.

She looked up at him, he was staring down at her with an expression she couldn’t place.

“No. But I did take your assignment because I wanted to help.”

His face was strained as he looked down at her. “Why do you want to?”

She licked her lips, and his eyes tracked the movement. “Because even though I know you want to assume that every person must have some twisted reason to help others, that motivation can only be underhanded or for a selfish benefit, I don’t think I’ve ever shown, least of all to you, that I have the desire to be deceitful. Can you honestly say that I’m gaining anything from coming here every single week?”

His eyes softened from the hard stare he’d been levelling her with. “As I said earlier, you’ve been eyeing my bookshelves like a forlorn lover. I’m pretty sure once you entered the bookshelf, your hair came alive in response to your oversized brain peeking up from inside your head.”

Hermione reached up and patted her wet curls for a moment before looking sharply up at Malfoy. “It did not!” she cried.

He chuckled. “You are more devious than you like people to think, Granger. I’m just now remembering when you trapped that vapid Skeeter woman in her Animagus form while we were at Hogwarts.”

Hermione gasped. “How did you—“ she snapped her mouth shut. But the half-grin was already twisting his handsome face.

“I guess I’ve always been good at keeping to the shadows. I wondered how Skeeter found her stories and followed her one day. Turns out she was an Animagus. I saw her transform into the beetle and fly into a corridor, and I followed her to see where she was going.”

Hermione gaped at him. “Um. Well...How did you even keep up with her? She’s a tiny beetle!”

“She is, and one who stopped to listen in on every conversation. It wasn’t too hard if you kept your focus on her. And then I saw her enter the hospital wing and perch on a ledge when you trapped her.”

“I did not—”

“Rather ruthless of you, Granger,” he interrupted. “Do you kidnap all those who anger you?”

Hermione sputtered and when Draco smiled at that, she could see the beginnings of his fangs show through. He had such a lovely smile, she thought. He seemed to notice her staring at his mouth though because he snapped it shut and cleared his throat, taking his hand off her throat and reached up for Hogwarts: a History and another book, walking back to the table and already discussing something Hermione wasn’t really listening to.

She was still focused on the warmth that ghosted across her collarbone and neck. She lifted her hand there and felt a buzzing sensation all over.

“Granger?” Draco called from the fireplace.

Hermione shook her head, feeling almost uncomfortably warm. “I’m coming.”

* * *

“You look terrible,” Malfoy said to her by way of hello, shoving a cup of hot chocolate with far too many marshmallows into her hand.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him but drank it. “Thank you. I haven’t slept.”

She had slept approximately four restful hours the entire last week since she’d seen him last. Recurring dreams of a pale blond mapping the tendons of her neck before baring his sharp teeth—fangs, she reminded herself—and biting her. She would wake each time as soon as she felt the acute pain morph into something else. Something that wasn’t painful, something more sensory and vivid. She refused, however, to consider whether this was a good or bad sort of sensation, and had therefore been living on pepper-up potions until she could get some proper sleep and had a clearer mind to consider it.

Malfoy gave her a look of dismay. “You could always go home early and have a good rest.”

Hermione smiled, taking a sip of the warm and just a bit too sweet drink. “But then who would keep you company when you insist on not going outside?”

He chuckled. “Well, you can keep me company in my potions lab today. I had to go to Gringotts and haven’t been able to brew yet.”

“Wimly told me you brewed.”

“I do,” he said, leading her out of the library and into a larger corridor. “Professor Snape left me all of his notebooks, and he had several experimental potion ideas that he never got around to attempting. I’m bored enough and have the time to try it in his stead.”

“You still call him Professor?”

Malfoy shrugged. “He was still my Professor before he died. It feels odd to consider someone’s name in present terms when they aren’t here to live it.”

Hermione thought of all the people who died during the war, of how she still referred to Remus Lupin as her Professor when she and Harry visited young Teddy and Andromeda. “I suppose I think that way too,” she said softly.

He nodded, and that moment of shared humanity felt like another wall between them fading, evaporating gently with just the smallest push.

They walked down the corridors, which Hermione thought felt warmer than they did the first few times she had walked through them and stopped at a set of double doors. Malfoy opened it and Hermione was impressed by the cleanliness of the place. Being in both Slughorn and Snape’s respective iterations of private brewing rooms, that ranged from catastrophic for Slughorn, and in Snape’s case, catastrophic while still being orderly, she was impressed by how simple and clean Draco’s workspace was.

“So without your wand, how do you brew most of your potions?”

“There are certain potions you can’t make without the necessary charm work from a wand. For example, I can’t fully brew Felix Felicis because you have to cast the Felixempra charm at the end. But among the notebooks Professor Snape left, there is a workaround for the less complicated spells if your wandless magic is above adequate. So, I can brew iterations of potions that don’t require immediate wand casting. And for those that require wandwork at the end, I can do a wandless stasis charm well enough,” he said.

Hermione looked at him, impressed. “That’s really clever,” she said.

He gave a mock bow, and she rolled her eyes. “How long have you been practising wandless magic?”

“Since I had a snake and its master in this house. It’s good to learn Cushioning Charms when you’re being thrown about everywhere.”

Hermione openly shuddered. “I see.”

“I—” he hesitated for a moment. “I had the drawing-room sealed off. No one can enter, not even me.”

She nodded, feeling heavy and nervous where she previously felt light.

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to brew for a few hours if it’s all the same to you.”

Grateful for the change in topic, she smiled at him. He froze for a moment, his expression flickering as he looked at her before nodding and moving to the work table.

Hermione felt a slight tingling in her lower extremities when Draco undid the buttons at his wrist and rolled them up to his forearms, and pointedly ignored the way the veins of his toned arms flexed as he stretched them out.

She plucked a potions book from Draco’s shelf and sat on the tabletop while he set up his brewing station. He huffed about her not asking if she could take the book and she ignored him.

As Draco lit the fire, Hermione felt a slight warmth around her hips.

“You’re too close to the fire,” he snapped, and before she could move, Draco put two hands around Hermione’s outer thighs and slid her to the farther side of the long steel table.

She looked up into his eyes. “I could’ve moved,” Hermione said, flushing at how close he was.

“I know,” was all he said after several moments. If he knew then why were his hands still resting in the suddenly burning part of her jeans, Hermione wondered. It was not due to the fire but because of Draco’s large, warm hands that were sending tingles over her skin. She didn’t think he realised that his thumbs were subconsciously sliding up and down the worn material.

“Uhm,” Hermione shifted, and Draco’s eyes widened when he looked down to where his hands were. He lifted them off of her with a muttered apology and moved back to the cauldron, cursing about putting the fire too high for too long and having to get new water.

As Draco re-setup the medium-sized cauldron, Hermione turned and faced him, making conversation so that she wouldn’t have to think about — whatever it was that just occurred between them.

“What do you do with all of the potions you brew?”

Draco seemed to appreciate the change in the topic too and spoke. “I keep a stock of everything I might need, and then I have the rest delivered to the local potions shop. The Apothecary in Diagon prefers their homebrew, but I have other buyers from generic brand pharmaceuticals. I also have an invoice from Pomfrey to stock her more expensive potions. She and the local potions shops, I don’t charge.”

“You give some of your stock away for free?” Hermione said. She couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Don’t misconstrue my intentions please, Granger,” he said as he dropped three cut-up puffer fish into what looked like a brew of Skele-Gro potion. “I don’t need the Galleons for selling it to people who can barely rub two sickles together,” he explained. “The pharmaceutical industry, however, is large and profitable, and so I have someone from Malfoy Investments come to pick up crates every week to deliver them to said companies.”

“I would never consider your obviously good intentions as good. No, never,” she said sarcastically.

Malfoy glared at her as he took a glass stirring rod and turned his wrist counterclockwise in the steaming cauldron. Hermione smiled brightly at him as she returned her attention to the book in her hand, turning a page. She looked up again when she felt his stare on her.

“Yes?”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“What?”

“You’re distracting.”

“Thank you?”

He grunted. “I can’t concentrate.”

“Would you like a partner? I haven’t done Potions in a couple of years but I imagine I’m still a fair brewer.”

“I prefer working alone,” he said flatly.

She huffed. “Then I guess you must endure what I am told is my rather companionable presence.”

He chuckled. “Who tells you that, Granger? Weasley?”

She smiled softly. “Not anymore, no. Ron’s engaged to be married.”

“Is that good or bad?” he asked.

“It’s fantastic. Ron deserves someone who will make him happy.”

“And you wouldn’t do that?”

“No, and I imagine the same could be said for him. Plus, I’ve been told I can be a bit much for people, so it’s probably for the best that I’m alone.”

He snorted. “I wager people who believe that people are too much as you say, are just so full of whatever shite they load themselves with that they can’t even consider how important those who give so much of themselves are,” he said.

Hermione’s eyes widened. She felt a whirl of — she didn’t know what to call it. It was gratitude, for Draco’s words, but it fell into a mixture of nausea and guilt, a dark place in her mind she could not consider. A place where she felt resentment for the people she called her friends but which she did not, could not and would not contemplate at present.

He looked up at her again as he set a timer for the potion to simmer. She stared back at him. His eyes had such varying shades of grey. At the moment, they gleamed somewhat dark, like ash, as he studied her.

“I just have to place a charm to…” he looked crestfallen for a moment before he straightened his features into blank placidity. He gave her a bitter smile. “It hasn’t been long enough, I suppose. I still instinctively reach for it.”

It being his wand. Hermione pulled hers out of her sleeve and jumped off the table. “If you won’t allow me to brew with you, then I can be your charms partner. I got an O on my N.E.W.T.s and therefore you are not allowed to say no to me helping,” she stated.

He raised a brow, his mouth twitching in a half-smile, but he didn’t stop her as she went to stand beside him and cast the necessary spells for the potion.

There was a sharp astringent scent that tickled Hermione’s nose but barely affected Draco, paired with a sickly sweet aroma wafting in the air, signifying a perfect brew.

She looked up at him, beaming.

“You’re decent at Charms, Granger. I’ll give you that.”

She swatted him on the arm and he grumbled, calling her violent as he rubbed his supposed injury.

She was going to over-turn the wand ban on vampires, she decided as he looked back down at her, moving his face slightly to the side so Hermione couldn’t see his smile.

She saw it anyway.


	3. Rule #3: Vampires aren’t known to be affectionate, so what is Draco playing at?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the love to weestarmeggie. You make the words look normal. :)
> 
> Thank you to Nay for reading through.

It turned out that working for four years at the Ministry only granted Hermione a modicum of persuasion, and even then it was Harry throwing his weight around that got her into a meeting with the senior members of the Wizengamot.

She hated asking for things and even though he was her best friend, she still felt horribly guilty asking Harry for his support when he was drowning under his own duties as one of the newly appointed senior Auror’s, but after some playful grumbling, he’d agreed to help her. 

Harry had gotten used to public speaking after being promoted, being tasked with more assignments that made him the lead on several cases, resulting in him dealing with members of the public and the press making him the perfect guinea pig for Hermione to practice her cue cards on. He didn’t question Hermione’s sudden fervency for vampire rights, only teased that her list of creature rights was growing longer and longer.

At Hermione’s correction that vampires were not technically creatures, Harry rolled his eyes and opened the doors to their meeting with the senior members of the Wizengamot.

The meeting was scheduled a few doors down from the court, with a long table which three of the most senior members sat behind: Simon Ackley, Charlotte Kemble, and Elphias Doge. Chief warlock William Everly, a man in his late fifties, was present as well. 

Hermione told Harry that Doge was a key person to the promotion of Hermione’s legislation because he had been a close friend of Dumbledore’s as well as a member of the Order of the Phoenix;she hoped that fondness for his old friend would extend to Harry himself. By the fond twinkle in the old man’s eyes and the soft smile he sent Harry’s away, who smiled awkwardly as he straightened his chair, Hermione felt confident in gaining his support. 

Kemble, the only female present, much to Hermione’s chagrin, was much more personable according to her research, and would at least hear out any legislation brought to her. Kemble was stern and would undoubtedly challenge Hermione’s points, but having looked at previous cases, including the Malfoy trial post-war when Charlotte had voted in favour of Draco receiving only a year in Azkaban, Hermione was confident that if she approached Charlotte with logic and tenacity, it would work in her favour.

That left Simon Ackley, a handsome pureblood wizard who was one of the youngest members of the Wizengamot. He had black hair and icy blue eyes, as bright as Draco’s, Hermione thought, but they were much colder than his were. 

Ackley had always been the biggest thorn in Hermione’s side when it came to any legislation her department drew up. He found issues in every single aspect of her work, causing Hermione several nights of unnecessary revision, even by her standards. She had suspected that Ackley was averse to creature rights specifically, because Dean Thomas, who worked in the legal department at the DMLE, had told Hermione that they never experienced many issues representing different wizarding clients and bringing their cases to review with him.

Dean had even said several times that Ackley was kind.

Such kindness was not extended to her department and by extension herself, especially if the way Ackley was looking across the table at Hermione was any indication. He looked at her with such a level of disdain, it would make most people shrivel.

Unfortunately for him, Hermione wasn’t most people. She lifted her chin and dared him to ignore her.

Meeting her determined stare, Ackley spoke up, giving her a thin smile. “Auror Harry Potter and Miss Hermione Granger.” His voice was venomous when he said her name. “Before we begin, I must ask why Mr Potter is in a meeting when he does not work in the legal department. I hope you are not using Mr Potter's fame as a way to get into meetings now, Miss Granger,” he said, sickly sweet as he levelled her with a smug smirk.

“Harry Potter is here as a character witness for his interactions with other vampires,” Hermione said confidently. “He has been on several” (three to be exact, but Hermione was the only one who ever paid attention to the details) “missions and has interacted with multiple vampire covens. He is here to give weight to my research,” she said.

“And just how are those demons supposed to be trusted with a wand that will make them undoubtedly stronger than a normal witch or wizard?”

“First of all,” Hermione said pointedly, already feeling frustration seep through her composure, “Vampires and demons are of entirely different classifications. “Of the existing reasons why they are completely different from each other, the most important distinction is that demons are summoned, while vampires are bitten but still retain human-level consciousness.”

“Come now, Miss Granger, surely that doesn’t matter when they are—”

“Vampires are not feral beasts, Mr Ackley,” Hermione said, interrupting him. “Although, I will point out that no creature or other non-human should be treated as though they are unconscionable monsters, the important point I am trying to make today is that there is no reasonable reason for vampires not to have access to a wand simply because of their status as non-wizards.”

“Let me show you an example of them being reasonable, Miss Granger,” said Ackley coldly, his eyes narrow slits as he stared her down. He waved his hand swiftly and a grey apparition of a foreign newspaper appeared, the headline reading in bold capital letters, ATTACK ON MUGGLE VILLAGE IN BULGARIA: OLD SUPPORTERS OF VOLDEMORT RESPONSIBLE FOR ATTACK. WIZARDS IN DARK ROBES AND MASKS, AND A FEW UNMASKED VAMPIRES SPOTTED, THEIR MOUTHS DRIPPING WITH WHAT WAS UNDENIABLY THEIR VICTIM’S BLOOD.

Hermione clenched her teeth to stop her magic lashing out in anger. “That is an attack by a dark faction of Voldemort supporters, supporters who also happen to include vampires. These two things are not bound together.” She sat up straighter, levelling Ackley with the darkest look she could muster, her fury building inside her. “Also, I see you fail to mention that the attack included dark wizards as well.”

“The attack would not have been as destructive if the demons did not have wands,” he said, face rapidly reddening in anger. 

“Demons and vampires are not—”

“It does not matter what you classify them as, they—”

“It does, actually,” she snarled lowly.” They are—”

Someone cleared their throat. Hermione and Ackley turned their heads to Everly, who was giving Ackley a stern look behind his round spectacles. He reminded Hermione a bit of McGonagall when a younger student would step even a toe out of line. 

“Member Ackley, we have agreed to hear Miss Granger’s case. There is no reason to start criticising her before she’s even begun.”

Ackley nodded reluctantly, withering somewhat under the old man’s gaze, and turned his eyes back on Hermione, his expression dark.

She bristled but met his cruel gaze. His eyes were bottomless, the icy blue crystallising in determination as he motioned for her to start.

The first meeting went rather well, by Harry’s standards, which meant that it actually went horribly, but Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell him. Dean joined them for lunch during the intermission, where Harry tried to assure her things were going rather well. She didn't have the heart to tell him how wrong he was and whilst he and Dean discussed something she wasn’t really listening to, Hermione thought about the positives and negatives of the meeting.

While Ackley was slightly less hostile after his admonishment, he still scoffed anytime Hermione would get to her main points of why vampires deserved access to wands. She was happy to see that the other three senior members looked more interested in her arguments and was at least confident that they could be convinced to really listen and consider her case, but Ackley looked like he would rather burn down the entire Ministry than allow Hermione even a slither of hope. 

She didn’t understand what drove his hatred. It wasn’t merely creatures, he seemed to hate Hermione more than anything. His eyes specifically were daunting to her. They were so full of vitriol and resentment, the same way Draco’s eyes bore into her when they were at Hogwarts.

Thoughts of Draco brightened her mood. She was going to visit him today, excited to be able to relax a little longer at the manor because it was Friday night.

She reluctantly admitted to herself that visiting with Draco was fast becoming her favourite part of the week. The delicate accord they had built since they started making potions together, had meant that the last few months had almost no fighting between the two of them. 

Except of course when he was wrong. 

Which was often. 

She was only doing the right thing by correcting his sometimes flawed opinions.

After a few more hours of dreaded work and making sure she could keep her night free, Hermione all but collapsed into the chair near the fire as she entered the manor library.

“Malfoy?” she called.

There was no reply. She turned and saw that there was no one there.

That was odd. Draco was always in the library, or if he was going to be working in his potion’s lab, he would still greet her and they would walk there together.

There was a heavy sound at the door and Hermione jumped. She got up and drew her wand, moving towards the door carefully. The door handle rattled again and the door opened abruptly when she was a few feet away. She gasped when she saw Draco kneeling on one knee, a stricken expression on his face as he panted for breath.

He seemed to realise she was standing there because he forced himself to stand, shakily, and grimaced.

“Granger,” he nodded. The slight movement seemed to almost take what little energy he had out of him.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“You look tired,” he feigned.

“You look worse,” she replied, tone flat. 

“You wound me.” He looked like he was trying to smirk but he seemed to lose air for a moment and his body swayed. 

Hermione went up to him, ignoring his swatting hands away as she put her own to his arms in an effort to steady him. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she said, brows furrowing in worry. He was cold to the touch.

He tried moving away again.

“Draco,” she said more forcefully.

He sighed. “Those blood packets are an affront to anything that could be considered edible. Every time I drink from them, all I'm left with is an acrid taste in my mouth that lasts all day. I imagine it’s the equivalent of eating only cauliflower at every meal.”

Hermione gasped. “So you—”

“I don’t take them regularly, only when I absolutely need them.” 

She slapped his shoulder.

“Fuck, Granger.” He rubbed his shoulder. “Did I not just say that I don’t feel well?”

“You foolish man with your stupid delicate sensibilities. They’re not supposed to taste good, they’re supposed to keep you alive!”

He sneered at her and tried pulling away but she kept a hold on him. “You try having blood as your only form of sustenance and then you can lecture me about my delicate sensibilities,” he sniped.

She sighed, biting her lip. 

“Please don’t do that.”

She furrowed her brows. “Why?”

His breathing was becoming ragged. “Just—don’t,” he pleaded.

Hermione blushed but nodded. She wandlessly summoned a blood packet and it whizzed through the open door and into her hand. 

“Drink,” she commanded.

He looked at the packet as if it were the most offensive thing he’d ever seen. The irony was not lost on Hermione that she was no longer the focus of that particular expression of his.

When he looked like he was ready to bolt away from the door, Hermione stepped into his personal space, crowding him. 

“You are unbelievably frightening for someone so tiny.”

“And you are unbelievably condescending even when you’re anaemic.”

He gave her a cold smile before tearing open the packet, and with a grimace, downed the contents. He made a retching sound but pressed a hand to his mouth and gulped.

There was a faint trace of blood on his mouth and before thinking about it Hermione reached up and brushed it away.

He flinched. “Don’t touch it,” he said.

“It’s just blood. I saw my fair share of it during the war.” After wiping it from his mouth she cast a cleaning charm on both of them and palmed his cheek. “You’re freezing.”

He smirked. “Yes, it’s my natural inclination, you see.”

“Shut up. More than usual.”

“Do you touch me often, Granger? To know something like that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I touch you enough.” She grabbed his wrist and led him out of the library and in the opposite direction of his potions lab.

He stopped, halting her. “Where are we going?”

“To your room,” she said.

“My room isn’t this way.”

Hermione stopped and turned, still holding onto his wrist. “Oh, I assumed that was where you went when I left.”

He gave her a sad smile. “My mother’s portrait is down the hall. I talk to her sometimes. Let her know what’s going on. Mostly nothing, but she says a good son always visits his mother.”

Oh.

“I’d bring you to meet her, but I’m afraid that even a portrait remembers its bigotry.”

Hermione shifted, looking away. “I imagine so.”

“We could try.”

She looked up at him again. “I don’t want to be intrusive.”

Some of the colour was returning to his cheeks as he gave her a smile that made her breath catch. “When has that stopped you before, Hermione?”

No. What was a catch in her breath turned into suffocation. Her throat closed up because the neurons in her brain were too busy firing off the unexpected stimulus she felt in her nerves as he said her first name. Not with mocking contempt or disgust, but fondness. He was teasing her and she felt her cheeks and neck—and really if she was being honest, her entire body—heat at the way he was looking at her just then. 

“What happened to your mother?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded calmer than the jumped-up school girl she felt she was acting like.

“She was always sickly when I was younger, even more so during the war because of the Dark Lord. After the war, with my father gone and then dying thanks to the conditions in Azkaban, I think she just...gave up.” His eyes had a faraway look in that moment, a peer into the past that only the cracks in his gaze made her privy to.

How much pain was he holding in?

“Draco. I’m..”

He shook his head, eyes clearing. “A conversation for another day, I think. I doubt I could muster a conversation about hot cocoa tonight.”

She gave him a small smile despite the tightening in her chest and resisted the urge to rub it. But for the first time since she’d been visiting him, she felt like he would talk to her if he needed to. That was enough for her. Besides, he still looked like he was ready to keel over from exhaustion.

“Another night, then,” she agreed. “Now. Take me to your room.”

He almost grinned at her. It was boyish and she realised somewhat crooked now that he had two pointy canines. “Rather presumptuous of you, Granger,” he said. “You haven’t even taken me to dinner.”

She arched a brow. “We already get on so bloody well, so why not?”

Draco choked on a laugh, and then let out a shaky breath before composing himself. He took Hermione’s hand in his much larger and warmer one and Hermione felt a fluttering again in her stomach and chest as he led her down a corridor to the left, climbing the stairs to a hall with several rooms. They had to stop halfway up as Draco heaved, obviously feeling the side effects of the blood packets. He obstinately refused to have Hermione help him walk but after reaching the top and looking as if his legs were going to give out on him, he begrudgingly let her hold onto his elbow until they reached what Hermione assumed was his room

“Draco! It's freezing,” Hermione said as they entered the large room. There was a large four-poster bed that was white and grey, although she noticed dark green pillows, and a sparse amount of furniture, all dark. She pulled out her wand and lit the fireplace. 

Taking hold of his hand again, Hermione led Draco to the bed and pushed his chest until he sat down.

“Take off your shoes.”

He raised a brow at her but removed his shoes and socks compliantly.

She peeled back the covers and looked longingly at the soft duvet and silk sheets. “Alright, rest time.”

He looked like he was going to protest and she stopped him. “I don’t want to hear a word about it. You need to rest.”

Giving her only a slightly petulant look, he sighed and got into the bed. “If the lady insists,” he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes and went to go settle the covers around him because clearly, he did not do it properly enough to cover himself.

What she did not expect was for him to grab her wrist and haul her into the bed with him.

“What, Malfoy!” She squirmed to get out of the bed but he reached an arm around her waist and dragged her back into the bed.

“If you are forcing me to sleep in the middle of the day, then I am taking your eye bags hostage as well,” he argued.

She gaped at him. “I am not sleeping in the same bed as you.”

“I won’t bite.”

“You are so funny,” she said sarcastically, but she stopped trying to get out of the bed. At some point, he had draped the blanket over her, and his hand was resting beside her hip as he sat up.

“Just sleep, Granger. I’m not going to do anything to you.”

She looked up at him. “I know. I trust you,” she said.

His eyes widened and he looked like he was trying to look for something to say but couldn’t.  
“I’m not sleeping in my shoes or blazer though.” She sat up and took off her flats, and unbuttoned her blazer. She was left in a soft white blouse her mum had gotten for her last Christmas and her work skirt and tights. When she lay back down, she felt more awkward than before; considering the stillness of his body next to her, Malfoy must have felt the same.

He also did not have enough of the blanket over him. Sighing, she reached around and pulled the duvet over him again, looking down at him as she did so.

She was half-draped over his body and blushed profusely at the realisation. After setting it over him, she lay back down on her side, and Draco turned to her. Her eyes widened when he reached for her and pulled her against his chest.

She gasped. “What are you?”

He wrapped his arms fully around her. “You’re warm,” was all he said in reply, burying his face in her neck.

She blushed and had the strangest urge to whimper. “That doesn’t mean—Draco!” 

“Just sleep, Granger. I’m sick and cold, and you’re tired and warm. It’s a rather good combination for sleep, I would say.” He adjusted his body more comfortably around her at the same time Hermione tried to wriggle away. She swallowed when he turned and pinned her beneath him and she flushed, squirming as he pressed against her. His body seemed to be rapidly heating up but he seemed content where he was. “Fine,” she snapped, feeling her cheeks heat as he scrutinised her. “Just let me get the blankets around us. Get off of me.”

“Only teasing, Granger,” he said in a throaty voice, moving off of her and laying on his back once more. 

Hermione shivered when the weight of his body left her. She didn’t allow herself to think it was an absence. She settled the blankets around them and laid back down, her back to Draco. Though she knew this was a pointless endeavour because not even a few seconds later Draco wrapped a strong arm around her waist, gently dragging her to him again.

She huffed, but acquiesced by turning around in his arms so she could press herself closer to him, and then took an indulgent sniff of his chest. The smell of sandalwood, jasmine, and a scent that was entirely Draco, lulling her to sleep.

Draco seemed to promptly fall asleep, his breathing evening out as he puffed warm air on her hair. Every inch of his body was pressed against hers and she inwardly smiled when he tangled his feet with hers.

She eventually fell asleep breathing him in, wondering about the affection of vampires. Wondering about the affection of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Hermione woke around what seemed like hours later, if the starry sky outside was any indication, butDraco was still sleeping soundly beside—dead to the world.

She briefly wondered how long she could accidentally keep making jokes about the undead and Draco before she bought herself a one way ticket to hell.

She looked up at him, but couldn’t see much of his face as it was currently smushed in her curls. He was breathing deeply and his warm breath was near her ear, causing shivers to roll down her spine.

“Draco,” she whispered. 

He stirred but did not reply.

“Draco,” she said a little louder.

A sigh. “What is it, Granger?” he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. She flushed at the heaviness in his voice.

“Aren’t you suffocating in there?”

“It’s more like a fluffy cloud,” he muffled, nuzzling her even more and causing her hands to clench in his shirt. Completely unwillingly of course.

She snorted. “I have to go.”

He looked up towards the window. “It’s night time. Go back to sleep.”

She raised a brow. “You want me to stay the night?”

He didn’t reply, his breathing already becoming even once more as he curled against her again.

She blushed before burrowing against him, relishing in the feel of his strong arms pressing her to him with the softest touch.

* * *

Hermione had almost succeeded in escaping Ginny and Harry’s Christmas Eve get together inconspicuously, when she stepped on a squeaky quaffle toy. 

Bugger. She was the one who had got James that toy too. It was decidedly rude of him to leave it lying around like that, hindering her escape.

She turned around to see an amused Ginny, arms crossed as she gave Hermione an assessing stare. “Ya know, Hermione, you could’ve just invited whoever he is, tonight.” 

Hermione looked at her for a moment, before realising what she meant. “No! No, that is absolutely not what is going on,” Hermione said.

Ginny gave her a knowing smirk. “So where are you off to so early in the evening? You haven’t even said goodbye.”

Hermione paused. “To see a…” she pondered for a moment. “A friend. He’s a friend.”

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows teasingly. “A friend.”

“Ginny…” Hermione said, exasperated.

Ginny smirked. “Fine, keep your secrets. But sooner or later you’ll have to introduce your mystery man to us.”

Mystery man. Hermione inwardly laughed. And in room C, there was Draco Malfoy: former Death Eater, part of the sordid house of Malfoy who has despised her and her kind for centuries, and oh, did I mention he is also a bloodsucking vampire who spends his days reading Muggles philosophers such as Faust, and Kierkegaard?

Hermione smiled. “There’s nothing to tell, Ginny. I promise.”

“Yes, yes. On your way. Don’t have too much fun.” She winked as she said it.

Hermione rolled her eyes, stepping into the fireplace and calling out her destination. Before the green flames whisked her away, she distantly heard Harry comment about how much more awake she seemed lately. 

Hermione groaned at the smile she imagined had spread across Ginny’s annoyingly freckled face.

“Draco?” Hermione called out as she stepped through the Floo, spelling the soot off her robes. Recently he’d given her access to the Floo network so it would make it easier for her to come to the manor. She’d returned to her flat to pick up her gift for him before Floo’ing over, but she cursed herself for forgetting the wine in her nervousness.

Draco poked his head out from a nearby bookshelf. “Granger?” He gave her a bemused look. “What are you doing here?”

“Happy Christmas!” she said, holding up a red bag with a green bow on it.

He looked at her for a moment. “Don’t you have plans? Why are you here?” he asked. His tone sounded frustrated.

Hermione’s face fell. “I did! Or I was at them. I left early to come here so I could give you your present.” 

He didn’t say anything. 

“Uh,” she fidgeted, feeling less brave than when she arrived. “I also intended to bring wine, but I’ve forgotten it. I can go back and—”

“No need,” he interrupted. “Granger, I really don’t need you to pity me,” he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. So that’s what he was thinking. “The only pitiable thing about you was when you grovelled for Wimly to make you soup last week like when you were ten years old.”

He laughed. “I’m glad I still have the ability to blush.”

She gave him a tentative smile, feeling vulnerable in a way she never had before. It felt like she was on the edge of a precipice. “I’m going to be right back with the wine then.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I have wine. There really is no need.”

All she had to do was tip forward.

She turned back, unable to hold the grin she sent his way. “Good.”

And she would fall.

He emerged more fully in the light, a small smile dancing on his face. “Good.”

The question was, what awaited her at the bottom of that icy cliff?

Later, after what Hermione would deem too many glasses of wine and Draco not enough (he declared it had to do with vampires better control over their blood alcohol level, to which Hermione snorted so loudly, she felt like her nose broke in the process), they sat on the couch talking about all sorts of topics, although one in particular, was not to Hermione’s liking. 

“I do not always blush!”

“You do. Don’t lie. And you’re especially red now that you've had some wine in you.”

“Yes well, not all of us have vampire blood,” she said, scowling when Draco smirked at her. 

He stood, intending to get more wine with a weak protest from Hermione, but first, he leaned towards her, slowly tucking a curl behind her ear, his thumb ever so lightly brushing the arch of her cheekbone as he gathered one of the more annoying spirals back from her face. His hand ghosted the side of her neck causing a tingle to rise up, and Hermione tried to repress the shiver that was crawling its way up at the barely-there contact. It was the refrain of his hand, the almost touch, that felt more intimate than anything. She felt a sort of yearning as she looked up at him.

His eyes weren’t meeting hers, however. They were solely fixed on her mouth where she was subconsciously biting her lip. She felt shy all suddenly, pressing her lips together. His eyes flicked up to meet her own, the moment breaking as he looked away quickly and cleared his throat.

“I’ll be right back.”

Hermione adjusted herself while he was gone, grateful for the air that had graciously made its appearance once again.

Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the couch when he returned several minutes later. He dropped down onto the seat beside her, balancing two wine glasses and a new bottle as Hermione fidgeted nervously. 

“I got you something,” she said.

“Uh-huh. You already said that Granger,” he said, taking a healthy swig of his wine while Hermione put hers on the side table so she could pass him his gift.

“Yes,” she replied, biting her lip. “Except—you’re not allowed to judge it until you use it, alright?”

Draco lifted a dark brow but nodded as he put his wine down and took the gift bag from her. He placed it on his lap, removing the packaging from the bag. He peered at it for a moment, as if unsure of what to do, and then started to delicately unwrap the ruby red paper as if he were afraid of ripping it in the wrong place.

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” she teased, laughing lightly as he glared at her.

Draco finished unwrapping it after what felt like hours, carefully placing the wrapping back in the bag, and opened the small box which held his present. His mouth was set in a thin line as he inspected the small device.

“It’s an MP3,” she said, moving closer to Draco when he said nothing. 

“I saw Muggles use these at university,” he said. “I haven’t used them, although—” he cut off.

It was Hermione’s turn to raise a brow, and she drew even closer to Draco, knees touching. He stiffened for a moment, before relaxing and resting his thigh against Hermione’s. “Tell me,” she said.

“So bossy,” he said, a small smile on his face as he turned more towards her. “I’ve never used an MP3, but you know those square devices with the large earmuffs they have in libraries so you can listen to the tape?”

“Earmuffs?”

“Yeah. Those”—He fisted his hands into two fists on top of his head—“You place them on top of your head, click play, and then the sound comes out of them.”

Hermione burst out laughing, grasping Draco’s knee so she wouldn’t fall off the couch. “Those are called headphones,” she corrected, small giggles still escaping her.

He scowled but considered for a moment. “Well, whatever they’re called, they are scratchy and uncomfortable. Anyway,” he said, placing one of his hands on the back of his neck to rub it awkwardly, “you should have seen the look on the librarian’s face the first time I tried to use them, I had no clue how to turn the thing on, and I possibly sniffed the material of the earmuff—headphones,” he corrected, earning another grin from Hermione. “She had to explain to me in embarrassing detail how to work them. I rather thought I was at Hogwarts again and Pince was showing me the proper way to read a book.”

Hermione snorted. “I imagine it was a sight to behold, you fumbling with a Muggle device,” she teased. 

He rolled his eyes. “So, how do I work this new contraption? I’m glad to see the headphones are smaller on this,” he said, holding out the long cord attached to the black MP3.

“Oh, so these are actually called ear—,” but she stopped herself at his glare. “So, the MP3 doesn’t need to be charged, I’ve put a magical charm on it so it stays at full battery,” she explained. At his surprised expression, she rolled her eyes. “You weren’t the only one good at charms, Draco,” and she flushed at how easily his first name rolled off her tongue. 

Draco was blushing as well. “How did you know I was good at charms?” he asked. 

“While the Potter stinks! badges were very rude, they were a rather impressive use of charm work for someone who was only fourteen,” Hermione stated primly,

He snorted. “Your compliments mean the world to me, Granger. Now, tell me how this thing works.”

She smiled, reaching to where he was still holding the device. She showed him the on and off button, and the different functions that would allow him to skip a song, go back and play again.

“I’ve put in a few different genres because I wasn’t sure what you liked, including a recording of a German play called Elisabeth. If you wanted, you could play it while you brew.”

“I will.” He smiled, and her breath hitched. “I’ve heard of that play. Have you seen it?”

“I hope to one day!” she said. “My parents saw it when they visited Vienna but I haven’t had the time yet. From what my mum told me, it’s a compelling story of a woman who was in love with death, and the tragic circumstances that occurred because she was mortal.”

He nodded. “Loving someone whose life is finite and yours is never-ending,” he furrowed his brows, a faraway look flitting across his face momentarily. “It would never work,” he said finally, his expression inscrutable. 

Hermione shrugged. “You never know.”

He looked at her for a long moment, that faraway look and something else painting his pale features. “I got you a present too,” he said after several seconds.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You did?”

He nodded. “I was going to give it to you next week, but I have it now. Give me one moment.”

He returned just as Hermione downed the glass of wine, her nerves demanding to be dulled. She was refilling her glass just as he sat down. It was taller with red packaging as well, although the red was a deeper shade.

Blood red, her brain supplied. She had trouble gulping for a moment.

She accepted it with a nervous smile, feeling her heart thud almost painfully in her chest. Hermione unwrapped the delicate packaging with shaking hands and gasped at what was revealed when the paper fell away.

A first edition collection of The Lord of the Rings trilogy was stacked together, a bookmark of a ginger cat, looking far too much like Crooks, rested on the top. The three white hardcover laminated books looked old, faint tears on the spine and the front of the book, and she could see that the pages looked old when she opened The Two Towers, but all in all, they were in great shape.

“Draco,” Hermione said, delicately caressing the spine of the books with reverence, “where did you find the original set?”

“You were talking about how you couldn’t find this version a couple of weeks after you first started coming to the manor.”

Hermione looked up, surprised. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do, Granger, some of us actually use our brains,” he retorted. 

She ignored his tone. “Where did you find it?”

“I frequented a small bookshop while in Germany, and the old Muggle shop keeper had several old editions of books. I wrote to him on a whim that he might have this collection, and after figuring out the Muggle postal service, had it mailed to the offices at Malfoy Investments.”

Hermione’s face broke out into a bright smile. “You—this is.” She settled on, “Thank you.” 

He looked suddenly uncomfortable, looking anywhere but at her. “Yes, well. Now you can read them.”

“As I recall you haven’t read any Tolkien. I think I must make you somehow, now.”

He huffed. “Why would I want to read about magic when I already live in a magical world?” he asked petulantly.

“There are all sorts of magic in this world, this trilogy just happens to be one of the most famous.”

“Whatever you say, Granger,” handing her another glass of wine. Good lord, had she already finished the—was it the fourth or fifth glass now? That was somewhat concerning. 

“Yes, I am correct,” she said, “Thank you for noticing.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but she saw a small smile form as he drank from his glass.

She looked at him for a moment. He didn’t look as dazed as Hermione was sure she did, but he was leaning more comfortably on the couch as well.

The heat of him was searing next to her, and when she blinked it was to find him looking at her, his grey eyes refracting off the brimming fireplace. His eyes were like silver fire.

“You’re definitely blushing,” Draco said.

“It’s the wine,” she said quickly.

Draco raised his hand and palmed her cheek, warmth meeting fire.

“Even redder,” he said in a husky tone. He was definitely tipsy.

Hermione didn’t know what compelled her to do it. Maybe it was the warm light of the fire, but she thought he was looking at her with a desperate sort of adoration. She lifted her hand to his cheek, and brought his face to hers. She kissed him soundly and when he tensed, she braced herself for him pulling away, but all he did was give a ragged exhale before grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer. 

Every person should have this kind of kiss in their life, Hermione thought. She couldn’t pinpoint if it was the technique he employed, which was marvellous because it was nervous and somewhat sloppy as he tried to find the right angle of their lips, or if when they connected, they fit in an indescribably vulnerable way, but the sheer force of emotion welling up in her throat couldn’t be defined by a single word. 

Draco gripped her waist, pulling Hermione flush against him, his other hand moving along the contours of her face, delving into her curls. She felt awash in his touch, his hands somehow touching everywhere but still not enough. She decided that the only way to rectify this was to wrap herself around him, to kiss him deeper, to contribute to her own devouring.

He moved them until he was lying atop of her on the couch, chest to chest as they kissed.

Hermione squirmed under the weight of his hot body pressing down on her. His hands fluttered open to grasp as much of her as he could, and his hips pressed up against her stomach, teasing her most sensitive spot. 

He was touching her everywhere. His hands, his mouth, his stupid white-blond hair tickling her face as he laved at her neck was doing things to Hermione that felt downright sinful.

She was liable to become putty in his arms and she didn’t know how to reconcile that thought with the fact that it was Draco, and then all thoughts were lost together as he reached a hand around the back of her neck , tilting her head up as he sucked on a point between her collarbone and shoulder.

“Ah, Draco.” She raised her hips to meet his and heard him groan against her.

As he sucked deeper, drew their bodies closer together, Hermione heard herself whimper, and then his sucking became a nip, and she moaned, and then—

Hermione gasped as she felt Draco’s fangs graze her neck.

He stilled above her, before violently throwing himself off of her. She laid there for a moment, breathing heavily as her pounding heart tried to calm down. She sat up and looked at Draco. He was ashen faced, breathing through his palm as he covered his mouth.

She lifted her hand and reached for him. “Draco?”

He flinched away from her. “I’m— I’m so sorry.” He looked like he was going to be sick. 

“Draco, it’s fine,” Hermione tried.

He looked sharply at her. “It’s not fine. I almost didn’t stop myself from biting you.”

Her cheeks heated. “It’s ok. I was just surprised.”

He didn’t seem to be listening. He was becoming progressively more horrified while he stood there. 

“Draco,” she said louder.

He met her eyes. There was a silver sheen in them as he stared at her.

“It’s not like I didn’t know you were a vampire before kissing you,” she said. “Whether you can bite me did not factor in my decision. I trust you.” 

His lips thinned. “Oh really?” He stalked towards her where she sat on the arm of the couch and put his hands on either side of her hips.“Why are you trembling then, Hermione?” he asked in a cool and seductive voice. 

Dark. His voice was dark but she didn’t know how to properly express that adjective.

She only knew that the dark hole he was, intrigued her.

“I’m nervous, not scared. This is new territory for me.”

“Is this supposed to be” — he gestured between the two of them — “new territory?”

She bit her lip and Draco tracked it. “Do you want it to be?”

A moment's hesitation. “No,” he said against her mouth, his lips grazing hers as he spoke.

She smiled. “Is that why you’re so close?”

He exhaled raggedly. “I don’t have much control left, Granger,” he said. His voice was pleading. 

She palmed his cheek. “You won’t hurt me.” 

His eyes widened, but before he could say anything else she grabbed ahold of his shirt and pulled him down to her. 

She kissed and kissed him. She kept kissing him until her lungs were burning and she had to draw breath, and she realised that she had climbed on top of him at some point. He was supporting her with his hands on her bum.

“How did I—”

“I honestly have no idea,” he replied. He set her down, which made Hermione feel a sense of loss, but then he wrapped his arms around her in a bear-hug and crushed her to his chest.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he said against her hair.

She hugged him tighter so he wouldn’t let go. “Who says?”

His head dropped back and he groaned. “Granger…”

She kissed him again. He didn’t hesitate this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come hang out on tumblr! simplifiedemotions.tumblr.com


	4. Rule #4: Vampires are extremely possessive; are prone to mark you as theirs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to weestarmeggie for alpha/beta work. Thank you Nay for reading through. <3

Hermione had been to several meetings with the Wizengamot, which essentially meant nothing for the time being, especially when Ackley was pushing back so brutishly against her.

Her legislation was either too weak in argument and so wouldn’t get a positive reception, or it was too forceful and would push people away from it. If it wasn't her verbosity of language, it was the scarcity of it. She wanted to shove every complaint he had ever made about her work so far down his throat, until he felt as sick as she did when he opened his mouth.

Some members of the Wizengamot supported Hermione’s legislation because they supported both creature and nonhuman rights. Those who were afraid seemed to be most frightened of the power creatures and vampires would have at their disposal if they had access to wands, and Hermione found herself constantly arguing that it wasn’t the power of a person, but what they did with that power that mattered.

This swayed some Wizengamot members, but her proposal was ultimately rejected, and Hermione suspected it had to do with Ackley’s sway among the more conservative members.

He gave her a derisive smirk as she walked out of the Wizengamot chamber, lifting his hand to shake hers in mock apology.

She gave him a cold smile as she returned his stony handshake, digging her nails cruelly into his palm. “Not to worry, this was great feedback for my next attempt.”

Ackley’s eyes flashed. “Miss Granger—”

She let go of his hand as if it were infectious, and lifted her head up high. “I’ll be looking forward to meeting with you again, Mr Ackley.”

His face pale with fury, Hermione felt more determined than ever as she walked away and back to her office.

And started again.

* * *

After a particularly long day spent catching up on neglected paperwork that she’d left piling, Hermione Floo’ed to the manor and was greeted by Draco at the library door’s. He looked like he had run to meet her.

“Hi,” she said quietly, tugging at the sleeve of her sheet awkwardly as she smiled at him.

“Hi,” he returned, just as stilted.

They were in that awkward part of interacting with each other wherein between the moments they spent snogging, they were at a loss as to what to say or how to progress in ordinary conversation.

It always felt like Draco was holding back. She’d hug him and he would crush her for a moment before he stilled and loosened his hold.

Hermione didn’t know how to tell him that she felt a thrill in the way he would roughly grip her. Anytime she thought to mention it she felt her cheeks heat and Draco would ask her if she was feeling ill.

As it was, Draco had taken to shaking her hand at the very moment she leant in for a hug. This resulted in an awkward jigsaw of hands being in places they shouldn’t be. Draco’s hand landed on one of her breasts while she smashed her face on his chest. He didn’t immediately jerk his hand away, making Hermione blush, and the warmth of his palm made her shiver.

He cleared his throat, slipping his hand from between them but before it could be swayed by his boring pureblood mannerisms once more, Hermione grabbed it and set it on her waist to rest.

He was warm, and she pressed herself closer to him.

He seemed to calm more after a few minutes of them standing together. “How was your day?” he tried in an attempt to ease away from their fumbling.

“A lot of work,” she said vaguely, and she noticed that he looked tired. “Are you—”

“I’m fine. I just took the blood packet an hour ago,” he said with a grimace. “I’m just not feeling well.”

Hermione furrowed her brows, and she resolved to finally offer Draco something she’d been debating for a few weeks.

There was nothing to do but just say it.

“I think that you should have a fresh drink. I think that you should drink my blood.”

Draco stared at her a moment. His mouth opened and shut and he reminded Hermione vaguely of a goldfish; he didn’t seem to understand.

“I give you my permission to bite me and suck my blood,” she clarified when he still said nothing. She internally winced. Goodness, could that have come out any more clinical?

He seemed to come back to himself after staring at her for several seconds. “Absolutely not,” he said in a cold voice.

Hermione pulled back. “Why not? Some vampires drink from people they know, and they’ve reported feeling much more energised and less sickly from it than with blood packets.”

“Granger,” he bit out her name like a curse, “I am not drinking your blood.”

Hermione wilted at the way he said your and pinched her lips together. “I see. So you still think my blood is dirty then?” His eyes widened. She turned and started to walk away.

He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her back, pressing her to his chest as his hand wrapped around the back of her neck.

“I don’t think your blood is dirty,” he said fiercely.” I haven’t thought that about any Muggle-born for years now.”

“Then why?” she asked. She could hear how small her voice sounded and hated it.

His eyes softened. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“You won’t,” she promised, palming his cheek, feeling relieved at the resolve of his statement. His jaw flexed under her hand and he leaned into her touch. “You won’t turn me into a vampire unless we share blood according to my research, so you can drink it and I will be fine. Let me do this for you.”

“Granger…” He cursed. “I’m—I’m not a good person. What you’re offering me, I can’t promise it won’t hurt you,” he said.

She looked him straight in the eye. “I trust you to not hurt me, Draco.”

He regarded her for a moment, but she realised he must’ve already lost his internal battle because his eyes darkened.

He lifted her mouth to his and walked her to the wall next to the door, pressing her against the cold surface. He kissed her with a hunger she hadn’t experienced before. She felt absolutely devoured in a matter of seconds, and she tried her best to catch up as a flurry of sensation coursed through her.

“Don’t offer something when you don’t know what you’re giving up,” he said, voice rough.

She raised a brow. “I’m me. You think I would offer something without learning everything about it first.”

He growled against her neck. “Swot.”

Hermione felt her entire body heat as he undid the string of her shirt, causing one side of her shirt to slide down. Draco grazed his teeth lightly along her collarbone and she gave a ragged gasp. She clung to his shoulders when she felt her knees giving out.

“Draco.”

“Hmm?” He was leaving small imprints without fully biting her. She could feel his hot breath painting fire on her skin.

“Your room?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, voice rough, and he picked her up in one fell swoop.

“Draco!”

“No use waiting,” he said as he exited the room.

He carried her up the stairs over his shoulder like she was some prize he had caught in the woods, and the thought made her clench her thighs together against his back.

When they made it to his bedroom, Draco set her on top of the chest of drawers instead of the bed and immediately ravaged her mouth, gently peeling off her shoes and moving his hands under her skirt to remove her tights.

He was kissing— no— sucking on her pulse. She wrapped her around him as he moved his lips, then teeth, down her slim throat.

“So much skin,” he said.

Hermione thought she might have stopped breathing for a moment. She lifted her hands and started to unbutton Draco’s shirt. She was only halfway done before Draco picked her up again and threw her on the bed. She landed with a soft bounce and looked up at him in surprise.

He immediately went to her side and cupped her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d land that far.”

She put her hands on his forearm, smiling. “It’s all right, but what is that supposed to mean?”

He grimaced. “You’re small, but you weigh almost nothing. So I mean it literally when I said I didn’t think you’d go that far.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she smacked Draco in the shoulder before moving away from him.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her beneath him. She glared up at him.

“Don’t pout,” he said against her lips.

Hermione avoided his mouth and brushed her own against his jaw, nibbling on the somewhat rougher skin there. She could feel his erratic pulse as she lightly skimmed her fingers down his chest to the belt of his trousers. She pulled on it to bring him forward and he braced his palms on the mattress on either side of Hermione’s head.

She looked up at him, his cheeks flushed and his warm breath coasting on her cheeks as she unbuckled him. She could hear his breath as she put her hand inside his pants to touch the warm, hard length of him. His whole body trembled as his hips jerked at her touch.

“Granger…” he warned. His hands moved, one curling covetously around her hip, while the other ghosted her cheek.

His slim fingers made burning shapes with a sparking precision on her face as he caressed her jaw, his thumb sliding against her cheekbone and the point above her brow.

Hermione was sure her countenance matched his. Dark eyes, panting breath, shaking heart.

She trembled at the growl he emitted when she started making tight circles with her fist.

She felt powerful. She wanted to unravel the cold placidity with which his expression always greeted her. He looked transfixed as she pumped him.

Draco grabbed Hermione’s wrist to stop her movements.

“No?” she asked.

“I’m going to come,” he said, looking pained.

She smiled. “Isn’t that the point?”

He laughed. “Only you could both have the tone of voice to make that sound tempting and as if you’re speaking to a subject in a research facility.”

“I am adept at many things.” She grabbed his neck and pulled him down to kiss him, and he released her wrist to tangle it in her hair as he kissed her back.

“That you are,” he said breathlessly against her mouth.

Hermione continued stroking him, adjusting for speed and tightness in her fist by the way Draco’s breathing changed and the way his own hand fisted almost painfully in her curls. She would kill him if he made a knot that she would have to brush out.

A breathless groan left him as he dropped his head to her neck. “Hermione...” he whimpered.

She inhaled sharply at the pleading tone of his voice and rubbed her thighs together to quell the ache building between them. Her body writhing underneath him caused Draco to press himself closer to her, and Hermione felt her hands going slack with the intensity of desire she had. His panting breaths spurred her on, and she starting stroking faster, while her other hand tried it’s best to curl around his broad shoulders

A few more strokes and he came, breathing harshly into her neck and his arm wrapped possessively around her waist as he surrendered to the aftershocks.

He whispered against her neck and she realised he’d cast a cleaning spell on both of them.

Hermione looked up at him as she caught the scent in the air. “Mint?”

“I did say that I have a lot of free time. I’ll teach it to you later,” he said.

God, she wanted to jump his bones, and he seemed to sense her impatience because he pinned her down again and kissed her.

Oh. This wasn’t a kiss. This was devouring. His mouth, his fingers, his very body were making a very compelling effort to melt Hermione into the bed. She wondered dazedly what kind of imprint she would make when she was no longer solid.

Draco spoke and brought her back out from her head.

“What?”

“Please let me touch you. Let me bite you,” he pleaded.

“O-okay,” she stammered. Her cheeks flushed when she remembered her earlier proclamation.

Draco’s brows furrowed. “Are you absolutely sure? We don’t have to,” he said.

She met his eyes and said clearly, “I’m just nervous. I want it.”

He nodded and kissed her forehead. “Let's make you less nervous, then.” He took Hermione’s hands and raised them above her head where he crossed her wrists and using his other hand, branded feather-soft caresses across her body, tracing her like she was a person in a painting.

“Don’t move,” he said. Her shirt at some point had been undone and her breasts were all but spilling out of her bra. Draco kissed down her chest as he unzipped her skirt and pulled it down with her knickers while Hermione watched.

He pulled his shirt off and Hermione took the opportunity to unclasp her bra, when he stopped her.

“Keep it on,” he said thickly.

Hermione made a note in the back of her mind to wear a green bra if this were to happen ever again. It turned out that torturing Draco was a new hobby she liked actively participating in.

He circled the point of her breasts until her nipples pebbled and she squirmed under him, before taking one and then the other in his mouth. Something about the fact that her bra was still on felt more sensual than if she were completely naked.

Hermione whined when he sucked on the top of her breast at the same time he dragged his thumb unbearably slow across her nipple.

“You’re so sensitive,” he said tightly, as he grabbed her hands that she hadn’t even realised had moved to his head, pulling her closer to him.

He kissed down her body, kissing each side of Hermione's ribs and taking extra care around the long purple scar on one side.

She smiled. “I got that scar from Dolohov when I was sixteen. You don’t have to be gentle,” she said.

Draco looked up at her, his hungry gaze making way for something else, something burning. “Yes, I do,” he said, his expression fierce and rooting her to the spot.

Before she could respond, Draco was placing soft, wet kisses up her thighs, nibbling on a particularly sensitive spot on the inside of her knee that made Hermione kick his shoulder instinctively.

He smirked. “I’ll remember that,” he said as he brought her leg over his shoulder.

“Prat—ah, Draco,” she gasped. She could feel his hot breath on the most sensitive part of her, causing her legs to tremble in anticipation. Hermione very unattractively thought of herself as a hot air balloon being heated by a fire-breathing dragon before she flew far, far away into the sky.

She didn’t know how she could—she hadn’t. No one… not that Ron or the other men she’d been with hadn’t tried, but she was never able to feel anything when they tried, opting to tell them she was ready without any of the before parts.

“Come back to me, Granger,” Draco said.

“I can’t…” she said, burying her face in her hands. “It’s not that I’m embarrassed about you being...” she gestured between them.

“Between your thighs,” he said.

She huffed, feeling her cheeks heat. “I just find it hard to get out of my head when I’m not in control.”

He suddenly circled her core with his deft tongue, making her gasp as her suddenly boneless body toppled back onto the bed.

“I will endeavour to make you leave that glorious head of yours,” he rasped.

“You’re very humble,” she said, panting as he stabbed and flicked.

Hermione’s back bowed, her hips lifting off the bed as she refrained from screaming his name. Draco placed a hand on top of her stomach, pinning her down as he licked and sucked while she rested her hands on his forearms.

“Draco, please.” She didn’t know what she was saying please for. Stop? More? Both, somehow, and all at once. But there wasn’t one single word she could think of to articulate that so she settled on please, please, please.

He seemed to know what he was doing though, and Hermione almost shrieked as he slid one and then two fingers inside her. She clamped her thighs around his head, unable to take the mounting pressure building inside her.

Draco wrapped his hand around one thigh and opened her up to him again, and Hermione bit into her elbow to keep from screaming.

“I want to hear you, Hermione.”

“Oh god,” she whined, and he tortured her more as he curled his fingers, flicking his tongue over where she ached most. She looked down to see him staring up at her, his cheeks flushed as if he were enjoying this as much as she was, drowning as he devoured her.

He sucked in a rhythm that was both gentle and ruinous and Hermione came with a shriek, closing her legs around Draco’s head as her entire body spasmed, whispering no more as he placed a few more kisses to her sensitive core. She felt tremors coursing through her entire body as Draco lifted her to sit astride his lap, and she was vaguely aware of him moving her curls to the side and baring her neck to him.

He palmed her throat with his hand and held it, bringing her forward and looking at her intently as she stared back at him in a daze.

“This will hurt at first,” he whispered.

She nodded dazedly, still trembling from her orgasm.

He kissed her neck a few times, moving his hand to the side of it as he opened his mouth wide; she saw the glint of his fangs in the moonlight, before he sunk them into the delicate flesh of her neck.

Oww... Oh, it hurt. It hurt so much. Hermione instinctively tried to push him away but Draco’s firm grip on both her neck and waist kept her from escaping.

“Draco… it—ah,” she gasped. There was a new sensation coursing through her along with the searing pain. She felt her entire body heat as Draco withdrew his fangs and started sucking her neck.

His fangs dug into her soft flesh, the sharp sensation making her breath hitch and her body tighten until the sensation turned delightful. Her nerves were on fire in the best way as he took more blood from her.

She was in delirium, so alive with pleasure and an unexpected wave of emotion that she almost missed Draco moving his hand up her thigh.

“I’m sensitive,” she whined, sensing his intent. She tilted her hips away from him but he held her close with his arm around her waist.

Like he was hoarding her to him.

“You can give me one more, can’t you, Hermione?” he said. His voice was rough and dry and yes she absolutely could give him one more if he would continue sounding like that.

She nodded and he gently parted her legs, and he inserted those long fingers once more, pumping them until she was a writhing mess, clinging to his neck with both arms as he sucked and caressed and pumped and Hermione came with a louder wail than before.

“Gods,” Draco rasped, tightening his hold on her.

She looked at him. There was blood around his mouth and chin, and his eyes—he was as dazed as she was. His eyes were silver bathed in fire around the edges being swallowed by the dilation of his pupils. It was like being drawn into a captivating black hole that greeted you in the darkness.

She was starting to feel dizzy the more he sucked and she curled her fingers on his chest as she started to feel a little sleepy. Draco gently extricated his mouth from her neck and laid her down summoning what looked like a blood-replenishing potion and tipping it to her mouth. “Drink this.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said after she had downed it. He vanished the vial disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a wet cloth as Hermione lay languidly. She felt completely sated and could fall asleep right there.

Her eyelashes fluttered open as Draco wiped the blood off her neck and cast another cleaning charm on her, then removed her bra gently and slid the covers over her. He slipped in and Hermione immediately shifted over and buried her face in his chest. He had a woody and smoky scent to his skin, like burnt sandalwood.

“What do you know about hot-air balloons?” Hermione asked tiredly. She felt her eyelids drooping.

Draco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Those Muggle contraptions that fly in the air? What about them?” he asked.

Hermione laughed, curling into his chest and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Hermione was warm. There was a furnace on her back and she idly wondered when Crooks had grown so large. She would need to put him on a diet.

She opened her eyes.

Oh right. There was no kneazle, but there was a vampire-sized Draco Malfoy currently behind her, his long limbs were encasing her in an inescapable cocoon. She briefly wondered if she should panic at the possessiveness with which he held her before she shifted even closer to him.

Hermione felt cherished in his arms.

She lifted a hand to her neck and thumbed the area where the two small indentations of teeth — fangs — were still on her skin. The bite mark was a little raised, and she could feel some small bruising around the area, but overall it didn’t hurt.

She wondered how a bite would feel in the more fleshy parts of her body and barely refrained from rubbing her bare thighs together. The action must’ve woken Draco up because his previously relaxed position around her suddenly stilled. She turned around and looked up at him.

He looked at her worriedly. He cast his eyes down to where her neck was in plain view and tentatively brushed a thumb across the bite mark, causing Hermione to shiver.

“Are you ok?”

She raised her hand and palmed his cheek. “I’m fine. More than fine. Last night was wonderful for me.”

She blushed at the way his eyes darkened. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“It hurt at first, but it was fine after the initial sting. I don’t want to stir your ego but it was very pleasurable for me,” she said.

He smirked. She rolled her eyes but before she could turn away and get out of bed he pulled her tight to his chest and curled himself around her.

“How was it for you?”

“Indescribable in the best way,” he said. “I feel like I haven’t had this much energy in years.”

Hermione smiled, pleased. She looked at the sun rising outside.

“It’s daylight.”

“Do you have work on a Saturday?” he asked.

“No, but I should—”

“Perfect,” he replied. He stretched his long limbs and then reached for her, one hand making residence in her curls as the other wrapped around her waist.

She supposed she could sleep for a while longer.

* * *

Hermione learned that the neck was not the only place a vampire could sink their fangs into.

Of course, she knew that vampires could bite other places, but having an intimate understanding of how each area being bitten could elicit a different sensation was an entirely new area of research. One which she for once was perfectly fine with not recording for others to read.

She could only imagine the title: Prim and Proper Hermione Granger: a Descent into the Arms of Draco Malfoy. Narrated by Draco himself who teased Hermione as he made a study of her body like she was a map that needed exploring.

_Chapter 1: The insides of her thighs._  
_Reactions: sharp gasps, incoherent moans, and loss of memory of the English language._

Draco had told her that he wanted to try her biting thighs because they had more meat to bite into, and Hermione was intrigued by the idea. What she was not so intrigued but very much flustered by, was that Draco thought he should try at a moment that was in Hermione’s mind inopportune. He wrapped a warm hand around Hermione’s bare thigh while she was on the step ladder reaching for a potions text for him.

Cunning fucking Slytherin.

He turned her around gently, hand sliding tantalisingly _up, up, up_ as Hermione stared down at him. She was only wearing his white button-up shirt and a pair of extra knickers she’d brought in her bag (one really couldn’t be too careful). The shirt was long and reached around the middle of her thighs.

“You can’t be serious,” she muttered, wanting to hide in her embarrassment.

“I quite like you being above me, Granger.”

“Oh, Gods. Draco,” Hermione put her hands over her face as she felt her cheeks colour crimson. She didn’t think she had blushed this much in years.

He laughed and it was a dark mischievous sound that vibrated in her chest like a soundwave that reverberated through an empty room.

Hermione felt her thighs trembling as he parted them slightly.

“Your skin is so soft. It seems a shame to mark it,” he said.

“I like the marks,” she admitted.

He looked up at her, and she could’ve sworn she heard a growl before he lifted her off the ladder and walked over to place her on the couch.

He kissed and nipped the sensitive skin of her hips before travelling to her stomach and _down, down, down._ He parted her thighs and placed wet kisses on them. She was squirming and ran her fingers in Draco’s hair before taking a hold of it and moving him where she wanted him. He took her hand out of his hair and kissed her knuckles, before taking both of Hermione’s hands and gripping them.

“Draco,” she huffed. He kept leaving nibbling bites all around her thighs, enough to bruise her. She squirmed.

“Patience,” he commanded, placing a warm hand on her stomach to still her. She jerked against him when he blew on her core.

“I don’t—I can’t…” She was stalled from any further speech when Draco found a spot he liked, and he bit into her pale flesh without warning.

She gasped, the prickle of pain making her whine before white-hot pleasure encumbered all of her other senses.

Draco slid her knickers to the side, inserting his determined fingers into her core, thumb flicking and pressing against her biggest pressure point to contrast with the stinging pleasure of his fangs, and she came with a hoarse scream against him as he sucked on her shaking thighs.

_Chapter 2: wrists._  
_Reactions: sensitive, Draco joking about Hermione’s wrists being strong from writing so much, she hit him, and receiving gentle kisses on them in apology was one of the most affectionate things she had ever experienced._

Hermione found out that she had particularly sensitive wrists. Draco taught her this in a long lesson one afternoon when they were lounging in bed, sated and clean after a bath.

Draco could do the most damnable things with his dexterous fingers. He trailed up and down each wrist with barely a whisper of a touch, and he would stop at the inside of her forearm and rub soothing circles without touching any other part of her, and this alighted sparks of desire within her and she would pull him down to kiss her.

A person’s wrist was one of the most vulnerable parts of their body. The thin skin, the pulse which rose as Draco traced it.

She trusted him with that vulnerability, the heart on her sleeve.

When he switched to her left arm, he stared at the crude lettering his aunt had gifted her, and looking at her nod, he touched it.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he said, his voice sounding broken and desperate as he traced the scar gently.

“You didn’t do this to me, Draco.”

“I know. I’m just… I’m sorry. For all of it.”

She nodded, grabbing hold of his chin so he met her eyes. “I’ve already forgiven you,” she said, looking clearly into his eyes so he would know she was telling the truth.

His eyes were conflicted, and he tried wrenching himself out of her grasp but she held tighter.

“You don’t get to decide whether or not I forgive you, that belongs to me. I forgive you Draco, it’s only you that has to forgive yourself.”

He nodded, but he still looked dismayed. She reached for his arm and caressed his own mark. He tried pulling away but she only brought him closer, insistent.

“We can’t keep holding onto the past if it has no presence in our present. You don’t think of me the way you did when you were younger, right?”

He shook his head. “Of course not.”

She smiled at him, kissing the raised skin of the skull. “Then leave your guilt in the same place you left those thoughts.”

Draco looked at her for one more moment before nodding hesitantly and pulling her forward to kiss her tentatively. She immediately deepened the kiss, melting in his arms and wrapping herself around him. He indulged her a few minutes before pulling away and pushing her back down on the bed.

She ached to have him touch her. And he seemed to realise this, the smug bastard because he gave her a full grin, fangs and all before he kissed down her right arm, laving the thin skin of her wrist and giving it a reverent kiss before moving up and down the left arm. When he came back to her scar, he kissed it gently, making Hermione’s heart pound painfully in her chest.

He then moved up her arm again, a touch of his lips that made Hermione squirm.

She stared up at him with pursed lips, breathing heavily even though he hadn’t even done anything, but he looked at her with such an affectionate expression that she got lost in his silver gaze.

He also looked hungry. Like he wanted to eat her, and it was only when she clenched her thighs around his waist so hard that he groaned against her that he finally sunk his teeth into her wrist. He looked at her the entire time as blood trickled down his chin and onto her arm.

It was the most erotic sight she had ever seen. Draco Malfoy starved for her as he sucked on her flesh.

Another time which Hermione still blushed at whenever she thought of it, Draco sucked on one wrist while he took her other hand and told her to touch herself.

She was apprehensive and so he took her hand, guiding her fingers where he usually put his, and they worked in a tandem that had Hermione gasping and moaning against his shoulder.

She left nips of her own on his bare chest, causing him to moan above her as she sucked and laved at his skin.

She wanted to devour him too.

That particular experience made them both light-headed, and they passed out from exertion on the couch for the rest of the day.

There was also a chapter of Hermione’s own observation. It came when they were reading together, Hermione sitting on Draco’s lap. Draco made an offhand comment about their — well she supposed they were in a relationship. She wasn’t quite sure what she could define them as.

“You’ll get over this at some point,” he said as he stroked her hair while she was thinking through a runic pattern.

She looked up at him questioningly.

“Your fascination with me, or at least what I am,” he explained.

Hermione raised a brow. “What? Is dating a vampire a phase? I’m not sorry to say that the main fascination I constantly have with you is when I don’t feel compelled to slap you at least ten times a day. Although it is a marked drop from when we were at school.”

He snorted. “Granger—” but he didn’t get to finish because Hermione shut him up by kissing him, moving to straddle him and wrapping her arms around his neck, the book still held precariously in her hands.

“Fuck, Granger. Watch out for the fangs,” he said as she ravaged his mouth. He picked her up and deposited her on the desk, as she cooed, and soothed the sharp points of his teeth. Draco whimpered and buried his face in her hair.

“They’re sensitive,” she teased.

His breath was on her neck and Hermione clenched her thighs around his hips as they shook at the feeling of his warm body pressed to hers.

Hermione was by no means a passive lover, and she pushed Draco off and made him sit on the desk. She then climbed into his lap once more while they argued about the finer points of sunlight and adequate vitamin D. Hermione was losing the argument and thought distraction was her best solution.

He stiffened for a moment before relaxing, his hands spanning her back and under his black jumper that she’d stolen when she’d gotten out of bed that morning.

“Hello.”

His lips twitched in a smirk. “Is this the way you distract all of your friends when you’re wrong?”

She smiled, wrapping her hands around his neck and leaning in. “Are we friends?” she said against his lips.

He hummed. It wasn’t an answer, but she could feel the quickening of his breath as she grazed her teeth against his jaw before travelling to the sensitive point under his ear.

She moved to his mouth and kissed him lightly, cajolingly, because she loved spurring the fire within him. She wanted him to burn her.

He deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer.

She could feel Draco’s fingers twitch against the small of her back and tilted her head up to look at him.

“You can let your claws out.”

He stiffened. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Some scratches are hardly injurious,” Hermione reasoned. She took his withdrawing hands and placed them on her hips again.

He nodded but seemed hesitant to do anything more than massage soothing circles on her hip bones.

Physical intent accompanied better results than words, Hermione decided. She raked her sharp nails (biting them to the quick when anxious made them delightfully scratchy) down Draco’s bare chest, and his hips bucked against hers, jostling her.

She leaned below his ear, nipping him as she whispered. “I have claws too if you’d prefer parity.”

He groaned. “You’re killing me.”

“Rather difficult for the undead, I think.”

She arched into his chest as sharp claws replaced nails as Draco dug into her skin and she keened in pleasure.

“Bossy witch,” he said, and then he kissed her. “You—”

She kissed him again to shut him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chill on tumblr! simplifiedemotions.tumblr.com


	5. Rule #5: Vampires go ballistic when they think you’re in danger/  Rule #6: Vampires named Draco Malfoy don’t want any help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weestarmeggie is the best heaux always for her alpha/beta work. <3
> 
> I've nervously combined two rules in this chapter! Thank you for reading. :D

“Stop staring at me,” Hermione said.

“Do you know, your complexion has been looking much better lately. Have you been trying a new skincare routine?” Ginny asked.

Hermione looked across at the mirror above the mantel and appraised herself. “I haven’t, I think I’ve just been getting more sleep lately.”

“The Hermione Granger, getting sleep?” Ginny quipped. “No, I think that’s impossible for you to do on your own. More likely,” the youngest Weasley stated, steepling her fingers under her chin as if considering a profound thought, “I think you’ve just been seeing more of whichever bloke you haven’t told me about yet, and he is ensuring you stay in bed when you try to work.”

Hermione’s cheeks heated. “Ginny!” She didn’t want to admit that her friend was closer to the truth than she realised.

She grinned. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in the armchair, tempted to hide the heat on her cheeks by tossing the throw that was resting on her lap over her head.

She looked up to see Ginny assessing her more seriously. “Hermione,” she said.

“Yes,” Hermione said-almost-squeaked.

Ginny looked to be scrambling for the right words to say, twisting her hands in her long-braided red hair. “Is there...is there a reason why you won’t tell me?” As Hermione opened her mouth to protest, Ginny held up a hand. “If you can’t tell me yet, that’s fine and I understand. I just want to know if you’re safe with whoever he is.”

Safe with a vampire? Hermione thought, but didn’t say aloud. That depended on what one defined safe as. She shivered when she thought about the several bite marks on her neck which were currently hidden under her thick wool scarf.

“I am,” Hermione said honestly. “I’m not in any danger and I trust him. I just want to see where it’s going before it goes as far as you frightening him with an interrogation.”

Ginny let out an indignant huff, throwing a pillow from the couch at Hermione who only laughed. “I don’t know if I should be offended or proud that you think me so scary.”

“Harry’s always had a thing for women in power,” Hermione teased.

Ginny grinned back. “I expect a full report when you’re ready,”

Hermione smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Hermione had been thinking for weeks how to ask Draco this question, and seeing as the nice spring weather was refracting off the curtains, she decided it was a good time to bring it up.

“Draco,” she said.

“Hmm?” he replied.

They were sitting on a couch Draco had brought in so they could sit together, and which they were currently planted on a Sunday, Draco’s head in Hermione’s lap as he read a book on the philosopher Augustine, and Hermione was smoothing her fingers through his soft hair.

“It’s really nice out today,” she said.

He peered up at the windows. “Seems so,” he said. “Did you know Augustine said a variation of Descartes’ ‘I think therefore I am’ before Descartes did?”

“I did,” she said.

After a few seconds of silence, Hermione looked back down to see Draco staring at her. “Yes?”

“I’m waiting,” he said.

Hermione’s brows furrowed. “For what?”

“For you to go on about whatever tangent pertains to that bit of information.”

She blinked, then blushed. “It’s perfectly normal to know things.”

He smirked, reaching up to caress her cheek. “I like the way you explain things. You’d be a good teacher.”

“Oh?” she asked, feeling warm from his compliment.

“I mean, you can be a rather big swot about it, but yes, I think you would be.”

She hit his chest. “Prat.”

“True,” he agreed, rubbing his chest. “Now, what’s got your enormous brain distracted?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Well…I was wondering... do you think we could… if you want to…”

“Sorry, that isn’t a form of Granger language I’m familiar with yet. You’ll have to speak in English, I’m afraid. I know Latin as well if that would be easier for you.”

Rolling her eyes, she said quickly, “Weshouldgooutsidesomewhere.”

Draco blinked. He stared at Hermione long enough that she regretted ever saying anything.

“Granger…” he sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but do you really want to be seen in public with me?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And why wouldn’t I?”

He huffed. “Oh, I don’t know. Ex-death eater, blood-thirsty vampire, generally unpleasant person by most people's understanding.”

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. “I’m willing to concede more favourably on your third charge.”

Draco moved before she could blink; sitting up and grabbing Hermione, he positioned her to sit with her knees on either side of him, his hips flush against hers. He moved her hair to the side and skimmed his fingers down her throat. “Not the second?” he asked, voice taunting.

Rolling her eyes, she sat back on her heels, still on his lap, and crossed her arms. “Draco.”

“Granger.”

“Is that a no, then?” she asked.

He seemed hesitant. “Where would you like to go?”

“I was thinking somewhere in the Muggle world. Ironically, I think you would be more comfortable there.”

“You forget, I lived amongst Muggles for four years. But yes, I think that would be easier. Not that I’m embarrassed by you, so please don’t—”

Hermione kissed him, hands tangling in his hair again. Draco returned it, bringing her closer as one hand wrapped around her neck and the other dug into her hair, ruining the plait she had spent a good chunk of the morning trying to braid in an attempt to tame her curls. He tugged at the dark purple ribbon at the bottom, letting her hair loose and wild. She pulled back and glared at him.

He smiled. “Oops.”

She ignored him and looked down at her watch. “Ok, I got us two tickets to the National Gallery in London, I think you would enjoy the exhibits there, and we have a few hours before it closes to go.”

He stared at her before narrowing his eyes. “You already bought the tickets?”

She cleared her throat, looking away innocently. “I may have thought I could convince you.”

“That confident, are you?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

She turned back to him and smirked.

He gaped at her a moment before standing, taking Hermione with him as he wrapped his arms around her. She thought he was going to put her down, but this seemed to not be the case when he shifted her over his back and started for the door.

“Draco!” she yelped.

“Best get ready then.”

“Yes, now put me down!”

“No.”

“Draco!”

* * *

As it turned out, Draco loved the gallery. More than even Hermione did. He stared with child-like wonder at van Gogh’s sunflower painting, marvelling the same way Hermione did when she saw the vibrant sunflower’s different yellow hues.

They decided to go to a science centre the weekend after, where they looked at rock collections and different ecosystems rooms, along with a view of the planetary systems in a cinema-style room, both of them enraptured by the movement of the star-system. There was even a nail bed which Draco was convinced was a Muggle torture device. When she laid on top of it to demonstrate that it was safe, his eyes bugged out of his head and he lifted her clear off the table once the nails started rising. The Muggle’s who were around them looked on, bemused, one woman shielding her child away from Draco as if he were some feral madman.

A feral vampire, Hermione wanted to explain, but she hadn’t the heart for jokes as she removed herself from Draco’s arms and practically dragged him to the next room, embarrassed and murmuring death threats at him if he ever decided to play a chauvinist hero against iron again.

The bloody bastard had the nerve to laugh.

She much preferred the grimace he wore when she poked him in the ribs.

“While I would argue that in both the Muggle and Wizarding world it is mad of you to pick me up like some doll because you think I’m in danger, it is considerably stranger when you do it here!”

He smiled innocently at her before leaning down and whispering in her ear. “Just admit that you like being carried by me, Granger.”

She pushed at his chest before huffing and turning away from him, marching towards the aquatic area. She didn’t hear Draco behind her and was about to turn around and tell him to hurry up, when she felt an arm around her waist, spinning her around and backing her up into a quiet corner.

“I’m very sorry for defending your honour against those sharp nails,” Draco said, his breath ghosting over her jaw as he kissed her. She felt breathless and dizzy as he left barely-there touches on her skin.

“They’re blunt, you tosser,” she said, glaring up at him.

“Mhhm,” he said, lips travelling a tantalising trail to her lips. She almost moved her mouth away out of spite, and she at least somewhat felt embarrassed at potentially getting caught snogging, but the warmth of his body against hers was hard to resist. She fisted his shirt as their lips met, and kissed him hungrily. Draco wrapped his arm around her waist as his other hand cupped her jaw, and Hermione seemed to lose track of all time for a while. It was only when they heard the announcement over the PA that the centre would be closing soon, that Hermione pulled back, breathless.

“We don’t have enough time to explore the aquatic exhibit,” she said, staring up at Draco. His cheeks were flushed, and Hermione felt a thrill that she was the reason for the part of him she could feel pressed against her stomach.

He hummed and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Guess we’ll have to come back.”

She snorted, pressing her cheek against his chest. “So you can save me from the perils of metal?”

His chest shook with laughter. “I will endeavour to save you from all manner of danger, metals included.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Being part of the undead has made me even more dramatic, too. However, will you deal with me?”

The following weekends were accompanied by several more eye rolls from Hermione as she dragged Draco to several Muggle areas including parks, other museums, and even a few exhibits outside of England, and several mutterings in what Hermione would argue was reluctant enjoyment by Draco wherever they went if the way he’d bite try to hide his smile as he looked away from her was any indication.

That earned him another eye roll.

One time, Hermione brought Draco to an old bookstore in her hometown that she used to frequent with her parents before she sent them to Australia.

She had never been able to restore the Obliviation charm on them.

She wondered if Wendell and Monica Wilkins had found a new store to browse through together, skimming the books the way she had, her mother looking at her father scouring the shelves for a specific book the same way Hermione looked at Draco. When he noticed her sad expression, he walked over and asked if she was ok, wiping tears away that she hadn’t known were there. Draco tugged Hermione up a nearby winding staircase, walking up and finding a deserted corner, before sitting down with Hermione and pulling her into his chest, rubbing soothing circles into her back as she cried and told him of all the things she had given up.

That night, while a storm as heavy as her burdens rained down upon the manor, Hermione climbed onto Draco’s lap and lost herself in the warmth of him, wondering how she ever thought he could be cold. His mouth, his body, even his voice felt like they were building and releasing an inferno inside of her.

When Draco bit her neck and sucked her aching blood out of her, inhaling in deep breathes as he took pauses, Hermione wondered about the potential of starlight burning its way through her nerves, and if she always had the ability to feel the heat of someone, of him, when everything else felt so cold.

* * *

Four months and sixteen different versions of the proposal, and there was finally progress. Everly, Kemble, and Doge were all responsive to Hermione’s newest legislation, approving it to go before the legislature next month.

Hermione offered each of them her hand, even extending the courtesy to Ackley, but all he did was stand and angrily storm the room, the marble stone clacking beneath his shoes.

The Wizengamot members looked at each other and then Hermione, wariness painting their features in the same way Hermione felt.

Before Hermione could speak, Doge spoke up. “Not to worry dear, Mr Ackley was actually relieved of his position some weeks past, after an investigation into his work conduct revealed acts of overt bigotry and a favouritism for certain people.” He said the word apprehensively, looking away from her

“Non Purebloods?” she asked.

He nodded gravely. “I’m afraid so. Rather grimy business, that. Dumbledore would never stand for it if he were here!” he said, enunciating his point with a slap to the back of his chair.

Hermione grimaced at the overzealous assessment of Dumbledore but nodded sagely in return as the conversation continued.

Everly and Kemble nodded in agreement. “He also seems to have a particular disdain for female Muggle-borns,” Everly said. We will not share the details of his statements, but they were such of the type of horrid proclamations that they should be burned upon first opening of the mouth.”

Hermione nodded, unsurprised that this was the cause of his vehemence towards Hermione, but she was mainly relieved that he would no longer be part of the proceedings for her legislation.

The Ministry would always be a place of Bureaucracy, Hermione thought, bitterly.

“Thank you for your time today,” Hermione said, politely lowering her head. “I will see you all at the official hearing.”

She practically skipped out of the room, hurrying to her office to get her coat before she met Draco at the Floo so they could go take their scheduled portkey to Vienna tonight. They had tickets to a reprise of Elisabeth, Draco gifting her the tickets and a three day trip to Austria as a birthday present. She couldn’t tell which one of them had been more excited, and she smiled at the memory of his face, how he looked at her when she said she’d be delighted to go with him.

As she was exiting the department with her bag and coat in hand, she felt a cold hand grab her and force her against the wall. Her head collided with the rough stone and Hermione experienced a rush of dizzying pain to her head. She opened her eyes, ready to thwart her attacker and locked eyes with Simon Ackley.

“What are you doing? Hermione said, trying to reach for her wand but he knocked off of her before she could take a defensive stance. “You are attacking a Ministry employee.”

“Oh, do shut up Mudblood,” he snarled as Hermione started pulling away from his grip.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?” Now the real thrashing started, and she tried to forcefully get his iron grip off her wrist. If he squeezed any harder she was afraid he might break the bones.

He seemed either unworried that they would be caught, which was fair considering the late hour of the day, or he simply didn’t care and was looking at her with malicious intent. “You know,” he said smoothly, his deep voice raspy over the edges causing a quiver to roll down Hermione’s spine, “I thought that maybe after the war Mudbloods could have cemented themselves among the civilised, that they would see that wars were only brought on when you got too ahead of your stations in life.”

Hermione looked at Ackley in horror. What was this insane man going on about?

“But it seems I was wrong,” he continued. “Only some Mudbloods have the capability of knowing their betters. Look at Mr Dean Thomas, he’s a quiet sort, never steps out of line and respects his superiors,” he said.

Hermione clenched her jaw. “No, Ackley,” she said, voice rising in the hopes that someone would hear them, but also in her rising ire because of this loathsome person standing in front of her. “Dean is a quiet sort because he always has been since we were kids, not because he is a Muggleborn learning his place. That you think people who are less loud in their activism are the only ones who should be heard is your own condemnation, not the witches and wizards who choose to fight for others. Now, remove your hands from me right this instant,” she yelled.

Ackley’s face looked like it was going to fracture in his anger, his usually handsome features contorting into something ugly and dark. A blood vessel looked like it was close to bursting near his temple. “Now listen here, you filthy little Mudblood,” he snarled, punctuating his words with several bashes of her head against the stone. “You are nothing more than a waste of space, a human-sized thorn in my side these last few years, and the reason for the loss of my career,” he snarled.

His hands, long and delicate looking like the ones she knew intimately but with much more malicious intent than Draco’s ever were, reached for her neck, and Hermione’s fingers started clawing at his arms as he put pressure on her throat.

She closed her eyes, tears falling as she felt the air leaving her brain. His body pinned Hermione’s to the wall, suffocating her at every angle as his hands squeezed.

She could feel her energy waning, and just before she felt her arms drop, Ackley’s hands were roughly removed from her throat, and Hermione let out gasping breaths as she fell to her knees.

She opened her eyes to see Draco pummelling Ackley, the once handsome man’s face being beaten black and blue. Draco’s face was one of white-hot rage as his fist connected again, and again, and again.

She pulled herself up on shaky knees, heaving for air, at the same time as voices sounded down the hall, and turned to see Harry and three other Aurors rush towards them. When Harry saw her he ran even faster. She quickly reached Draco, reaching for his arm so he would stop.

“Draco, stop!” she pleaded, voice hoarse as she tried removing his hands from Ackley but he was so much bigger than her that she could barely keep a grip on him. “Stop for goodness sake, I’m fine. You need to stop or they will arrest you.”

Draco stopped, looking at Hermione with such a fierce expression that she felt the air leave her once again. He dropped the broken man like he was nothing more than a rag doll and faced Hermione, gently reaching for her face as he examined the likely deep bruising forming on her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he said, his voice breaking over the words. “You were late and I was worried. I should’ve come sooner.”

She took hold of his bloodied knuckles and gripped them. “It’s not your fault,” Hermione said. “He attacked me out of nowhere. You came, that’s all that matters.”

“Hermione,” came Harry’s worried voice. She turned around and saw Harry and the other Aurors pointing their wands at them. No, at Draco.

Sensing their plans to arrest him, she swerved to stand in front of him, keeping herself in between Draco and the wands trained on him. She was standing to his chest, and his dark robes were framing her as she glared at everyone.

“Granger,” Draco said, trying to remove his arms from her grip but she kept such a tight hold on him that her nails were sinking into his skin under his shirt.

“Harry, you cannot arrest him,” she stated. “Ackley attacked me and Draco only came to save me. He is not in the wrong here.”

Harry’s eyes widened, looking from Hermione, Draco, and the unconscious Ackley a few feet away from them.

“‘Mione, look at the man,” he said, gesturing to Ackley on the ground. “That is way more than necessary force.”

“Yes, well, I could say the same thing about myself. I’m sure the bruising on my neck will suffice as evidence,” she said fiercely.

Harry looked at her, then up at Draco, who she felt breathing heavily on hair, and then back at her, before nodding in understanding. “I’m sorry. He has to be taken in,” he said, putting up a placating hand as she tried to argue with him, “but because you’re the victim, you will need to come as well, so you can come with him.”

Hermione begrudgingly nodded, feeling the fight leave her. If not for the steady hold of Draco’s hands on her elbows, she would have collapsed into a heap on the floor. The entire ordeal had left her in a vulnerable state and she might have started crying if there were not several Aurors and an awkward Harry still looking at her with a bemused look lighting his green eyes.

It was then that she realised the fierceness with which she cared for Draco. It was exhilarating and terrifying and several other emotions all at once. She turned to him, and he was looking at her with a relieved face, and he lifted his hand to her face to caress her cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, hand shaking against her.

She placed her hand on his, leaning into his warm touch as she smiled up at him. “There is nothing to be sorry for, except maybe us missing the portkey to Vienna,” she said, trying for levity as she felt the Auror’s approach from behind her.

He dropped his hand, eyeing the Aurors warily as he stepped away from her. She felt a pang of worry when they conjured magical binding ropes to tie his wrists behind his back. She turned to Harry who placed his hand on Hermione’s shoulder, and began to inspect her injuries. She still eyed Draco, who wasn’t even looking at her but at Harry’s hand, a dark expression on his face.

Hermione blushed. “Harry I’m fine,” she said, but he didn’t listen. He looked her over until he seemed satisfied, then took her arm in his. “We’ll walk to the DMLE now with Malfoy,” he explained. “Ackley will be transported as well and interrogated when he is healed and conscious”

Hermione shivered at Ackley’s name. “Okay.”

They walked over to the DMLE, where Hermione was seated at Harry’s desk as he asked one of the junior Aurors to fetch her some tea. She didn’t drink it, keeping her eye on the room she knew Draco was in. She couldn’t stop fidgeting, and after taking her witness statement, she told Harry that she would get her throat healed later.

He objected but Hermione said she wasn’t going anywhere until Draco was released.

Huffing, Harry stomped over to Draco’s room and shut the door, and Hermione was left to wait.

After a few hours, the door opened, and Harry walked out with Draco in tow, the other Auror who was with them ducking into a different room. Hermione stood and walked over to them, reaching for Draco’s hand at the same time he reached for her.

She almost didn’t notice the look Harry sent her way. Uncaring, she turned towards him. “So, what’s going on? Is he going to be charged?”

“Let it be known that the boy who lived is still willing to break some rules,” and he glared at Draco’s snort. “Malfoy, who I just apparently found out is a vampire, thanks for letting me know Hermione,” he derided and Hermione had the sense to look guiltily up at him, “has rights protecting him for using more than necessary force if he believes someone is in danger. But you already knew that, so the only thing remaining is if the victim, you, want to press charges.”

“Only against Ackley,” she stated.

He nodded. “I thought so,” he said. “Well, you two can leave, for now. We have both of your witness statements, but you and I are going to have a long talk tomorrow, Hermione,” he said, his tone brokering no argument.

Hermione regarded her best friend amusedly. “Yes, Head Auror Potter,” she replied, a teasing lilt in her voice that she needed to stemmy her from her exhaustion.

Harry rolled his eyes and patted Hermione on the shoulder, looking at Malfoy once with a nod before leaving them alone.

Hermione turned to look at Draco eying Hermione warily, his tired gaze fixed upon her throat.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I just need to get myself healed and then go get some rest.”

“I can heal you—” but he stopped himself, his face wilting.

Hermione gave him a sad smile “Healing doesn’t just involve wands. You have several healing potions in your cabinet, for the both of us,” she said, grabbing his hands with both his and Ackley’s dried blood smattered on them.

He smiled ruefully. “That I do.”

* * *

After Floo’ing back to the manor, Hermione performed healing charms on the bruises on her throat, much worse than even she had thought they were and dabbed some dittany on Draco’s hands. When she went to dab it on herself, he swatted her hands away, insisting on doing it for her. He used gentle hands to rub the soreness away, making Hermione feel like she was spun glass, ready to unravel at any moment.

“Will you tell me why he attacked you?” he asked, hands massaging the essence in soft circles longer than was necessary. “I asked Potter, but he was vague.”

Hermione bit her lip, not wanting to divulge her legislation until she won. She decided to speak mostly the truth. “Simon Ackley is, or was now a senior Wizengamot member,” she said.

Draco nodded. “Yeah. I know who he is, he’s very well-liked among the pure-blood elite.” He rolled his eyes. “What I don’t understand is why he attacked you.”

“He’s hated me for years, and tonight he told me the reason why,” Hermione said. “After the war, he seems to have gotten it into his head that while Muggleborns did undoubtedly exist and have magical talent, they should be subdued and know their place. He said I was all wrong with his conception of that, always thwarting him in my activism.”

Draco’s lip curled. “So he just decided tonight that he would attack you, specifically? He said, anger rising in his voice.

Hermione sat up and clasped both of his hands with hers. “He was investigated recently because of the way he was acting as an overseer of a recent project of mine. After the investigation concluded, it was found that other Muggleborns heard him say several passive-aggressive comments about their heritage. He was fired, but because the Ministry wanted to keep hush about it, they let him finish any work he had remaining.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Which project?”

“Something important,” she said evasively. “I’ll tell you about it when I have a more firm hand on it.”

He eyed her warily a moment and looked like he was about to press the issue before Hermione’s stomach gave a great big growl.

She giggled, and Draco glared at her. “I’ll have Wimly bring some warm food for you.”

She nodded, and wrapped herself around him in a tired hug, feeling so drawn out it was a miracle she could keep her eyes open. Draco enfolded his arms around her and pressed her against his chest.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” he promised.

She looked up at him, smiling tremulously. “I won’t either,” she said fiercely, holding tight to him the same way he did her.

* * *

**Rule number 6: Vampires named Draco Malfoy don’t want any help.**

She won. She’d actually won the case. It was only one step for all creatures but she’d done it. And most importantly, Draco could have a wand again.

She almost jumped for joy right there in the Wizengamot chambers, but stilled herself remaining professional even though her magic was buzzing beneath her skin and adjusted the scarf she was wearing, so no one would see the several bite marks she was sporting.

Draco told her she could heal the bite marks if she didn’t want to show them, although it looked physically painful for him to say it, but she’d reminded him that she liked the way his marks looked on her.

She blushed when she remembered the way he had pinned her against the wall after that, whispering sweet promises of all the ways he would mark her as his.

The press followed her outside as she spoke to a family of vampires that were thanking her profusely, and she turned, allowing the photographer to take a photo of her as she beamed.

She let them interview her for all of three questions before she stated once again the importance of fighting for creature rights and how she would continue to do so as long as there were people to fight for. She rushed back to her office, waving thanks for the congratulations from her office-mates and spelled it shut. She sunk to her bum, looked up at the ceiling and exhaled an excited breath.

She’d really done it. She couldn’t help the smile that overtook her, and found herself unable to stop as she got up and walked to her desk, pulling out a pen and parchment.

She sent an owl to inform Draco that she couldn’t meet at the new bookstore in the Muggle world they wanted to check out, and that she wanted to surprise him with something instead.

She left work early that day and Floo’ed to the manor.

She was almost surprised by the natural sunshine filtering through the window. Almost every time she had come at the end of her workday it was in the dark.

The front doors opened and Draco stepped out.

She smiled brightly. “Hello you,” she said, walking towards him.

“Stop,” he said, voice ice cold.

She did, confused. “What?” she looked up at him, and at the Prophet he was holding in his hand.

“The paper is already out?” That couldn’t be possible.

“Not yet,” he said. “This is an old one.” He held the paper up for her to see.

The words Hermione Granger to bring Legislation in front of the Wizengamot to overturn the wand ban on vampires was listed at the very front.

She sighed with relief. “Oh—then I do get to surp—”

“So. Did you succeed then? In your worthless legislation?” His face was devoid of all emotion, and it somehow hurt her more, lanced sharp pain through her, than his words did.

“I didn’t ask you to do this.” He looked pale with fury.

Hermione's skin prickled with irritation. “I know you didn’t. I wanted to,” she argued.

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s not fair that you don’t have a wand. Because I see the way your face falls in those moments when you still reach for it and realise you don’t have one, and then ask me to help you.”

“Granger—”

“And it’s not just because of you, you selfish arsehole,” she shouted. “Me fighting for creature rights isn’t something new. Why do you think I stay at my job? Because I like to sit at a desk and peer-review papers that make a bollocks-worth of change?”

“Well, you must’ve been so happy to finally get your wish, leader of S.P.E.W. and all other activism no one cares about until they get affected by it themselves,” he bit, his tone enraged.

Hermione felt tears burning behind her eyes but she refused to cry. “You are being intentionally cruel. Tell me what’s wrong instead of acting so nasty,” she said.

“I—we can’t do this anymore.”

Her face fell. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t ask you to fight for me,” he said, voice shaking. “You were hurt because of me. You were almost killed because of your foolish righteousness to protect and help me.”

She scoffed. “It wasn’t just for you, Draco.”

“Yes, it was. You never asked me if I wanted help. You just did it because you feel like you need to save everyone.”

She clenched her jaw. “I am perfectly willing to help people. It isn’t dependent on just one person.”

“Yes! Until it drives you down into the ground and you can’t pull yourself out. This may have been for me but why don’t you just admit that the reason you do things for others is that it makes you feel like they’ll want you then.”

Hermione felt like she was struck in the chest. “That’s not true,” she bit out.

“Oh yeah?” he stalked toward her, and she felt the cold nothing of him as he stopped in front of her. “Why don’t you admit it, Granger? You fight for those who have fewer rights than others or are looked down upon because you’ve always felt the same way. Ever since you came into the Wizarding World!” he shot at her.

“I don’t—”

“Just admit it. This project was nothing more for you than to prove to people that you’re some holier than thou—”

Hermione slapped him. The sound reverberated as his face turned from the blow.

She couldn’t help it. Tears were openly streaming down her face as she looked at him.

Draco’s expression flickered before he returned to that cold placidity. “Let me make myself clear. I am not like you, or Potter, or any of your Gryffindor friends with all of your refined righteousness. I am a coward and I always will be. This”—he gestured between them—“this is the difference between you and me.”

Several seconds passed as they stared each other down.

“I’m leaving,” she said as she turned away. “We can talk about this tomorrow when you’re done being so stubborn.”

He did not stop her as she pushed past him and stepped through the Floo.

* * *

The next day Hermione paced infront of her fireplace. She didn’t want to be the first to apologise, but both of them had had a heated argument and needed to reconcile like adults. She was still extremely peeved with him and was going to demand an apology, but she wasn’t going to continue stewing in her flat when he didn’t even know where she lived.

She threw the Floo powder in the fireplace and spoke Malfoy Manor.

The Floo spit her out.

“Stupid, childish vampire,” Hermione said with a low snarl.

She apparated outside the manor gates and stomped to the front door. She pulled on the metal knocker and slammed it indelicately against the front door.

After several banging attempts, it was finally heaved open by Wimly, who was looking at Hermione with a wary expression.

“Hello, Wimly,” Hermione said as calmly as she could. “Where is Draco?”

“Miss… Wimly does not know where Master Malfoy is,” the elf said in a wobbly voice.

No.

Hermione felt her heart drop to her stomach. She pushed the door open and walked inside.

“What,” she braced herself, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“Master Malfoy left a note that he was going away and that he did not know if he was going to return here.” Wimly looked at Hermione. “There was nothing else,” the tiny elf said.

Hermione started walking further inside and Wimly didn’t stop her. She felt her steps falter for a moment before she kept going.

She walked down the corridor to the library. The only light was the barely lit scones. Everything was cast in shadow.

Hermione felt a sad sort of nostalgia, blanketed in a melancholy she did not want to relive.

She arrived in front of the usually open library doors, and found herself staring at the dark wood for several seconds, her breath becoming shorter.

She raised shaky hands to the bronze door handle, taking a fortifying breath before she opened the door.

He wasn’t. He couldn’t.

Down the rabbit hole, she thought, as she looked into the never-ending abyss. She lit the sconces by herself with her wand, but no peek of blond hair greeted her, no looming shadow, no toothy grin.

She felt cold.

Like a shadow, smoke, silent footsteps. She had not gotten used to the quiet that Draco Malfoy became, but Hermione felt the heavy thudding of her heart as she looked around for any remnants of him anyway.

She looked by the fireplace, nothing more than ash, and to the side table, a discarded book lying atop.

Sisyphus. Rolling a rock up a hill for eternity as a punishment for his cowardice. On top of the book, was a well-used MP3 player.

Hermione only let two tears slide down her cheeks, meeting at her chin before they spattered onto the cover before she set the book down and walked away.

Out of the library, the manor, the gates. She looked back only once at the expanse of the large manor. Dark, looming, as cold as it had been that day all those months ago when she had first come.

Nothing.

Nothing had changed since then. She hadn’t changed anything but for the erratic beats of her heart, pumping in earnest despite its breakage, regardless of its unravelling.

Weeks passed and she heard nothing from or about him. No owls, no news headlines except the one at the beginning which claimed the disappearance of turned vampire Draco Malfoy.

Hermione didn’t grieve him. She would be fine. It rained a lot of days, so much so that rain clouds travelled inside her flat. She felt the water droplets streaming down her face.

Hermione looked at the rising sun outside the window to her flat. She thought, with something she could only describe as devastation, that maybe the two of them only worked in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out on tumblr! simplifiedemotions.tumblr.com


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